Essays, or discourses, vol. 1 (of 4)

SECT. I.

I. Virtue and Wickedness fly with nearly the same velocity from the human eye, and are both almost equally concealed from the discernment and penetration of mankind. The first lies hid under the veil of modesty, the second behind the parapet of hypocrisy. The vicious disguises himself with the colouring of virtue, the virtuous disdains and effaces all false tints or glosses.

II. The number of hypocrites in the world is much greater than is generally imagined. There is no vice so transcendant, for all bad people are hypocrites. This may seem a paradox, and you may say to me, are there no men who make parade and ostentation of vice? I answer yes, but not of all their vices. They endeavour by their boasting to hide their confusion, and discover that part of their soul which they are unable to conceal. They place a crown on the image of vice, in order to give dignity to the figure; and although arrogant wickedness is worse than timid, the last is despised, and the first feared. An unruly passion breaks down all the fences of reserve, and the delinquent, not being able to conceal his shame and disgrace by dissimulation, endeavours by his pride and arrogance to make himself dreaded. This is practising a new hypocrisy, with which he belies and endeavours to put a trick on his own conscience. The crime appears odious in his eyes, therefore by putting on a false semblance and air of gallantry, he attempts to dazzle the eyes of other people. To protect from public insult, him, who is a notorious bad man, no other method is so effectual, as that of openly exposing his faults to the world with daring impudence.

III. But observe attentively these very people, and you will find, that although they behave with this audacity, they at the very time they are doing it, endeavour to conceal other vices they are infected with, and also to make ostentation of virtues which they do not possess. They will own they are incontinent, prodigals, ambitious, and audacious; but they blazon their gratitude to their benefactors, their steadiness in their friendships, and their fidelity to their promises. It is certain, that the vice of ingratitude is one of the most common and most vulgarised in all the world; but with all this, you will not find any man who does not take pains to justify himself on this head; and I say the same of lying, of perfidy, and of other vices. It follows then, that upon a critical enquiry, you will not find a vicious man who is not a hypocrite. We should not suppose that open and avowed profligates, or debauchees, have no other blemishes, than such as shew themselves outwardly. There is no virtue such a man would not trample upon, if it was an impediment to his pursuits, nor an opposite vice to that virtue, which he would not employ as an instrument, to gratify his ruling passion. Do you think a very lewd man, for all the boastings of his innocence in matters of justice, and in points of meum and tuum honesty, would not, if he found himself without money of his own, make use of that of another person which was confided to his keeping, to purchase the enjoyment of his favourite object? or that the ardently ambitious man, for all the vociferations of his gratitude, would not turn his back on his benefactor, whenever this baseness would be a means of recommending him to the good graces of one, who could advance him to a higher degree of preferment, than it was in the power of his old friend to procure for him?

IV. So that it is very rare to find a perverse person, who, over and above those glaring vices which manifest themselves so palpably, is not tainted with others, which he affects to hide; and in case there do not predominate in him other passions besides those, which on account of their vehemence are so very conspicuous, these of themselves are sufficient to betray him into faults, which arise from, and are the offspring of other distinct passions, when the committing those faults is indispensably necessary for attaining the objects or purposes of the ruling passion. Alexander in his natural disposition, was certainly not a cruel man, notwithstanding which, he was guilty of cruel actions; for such were the putting to death his friend Clytus, and the philosopher Calisthenes. His predominant passions were vain-glory and pride. Clytus fell a victim to the first, for having preferred the actions of Alexander’s father Philip to his; and Calisthenes fell a victim to the last, for having deterred people from idolizing Alexander as the son of Jupiter.

V. Sometimes the false appearance of a vice is put on politically, or with a view of deriving some advantage from it. A man feigns himself vindictive, when in reality he is not so, in order that the fear of his vengeance may deter people from offending. This most frequently happens, when the vice affected is meritorious in the eyes of him who rules. Sejanus would never have obtained the favour of Tiberius, by appearing a lover of justice; nor Tigilinus, nor Petronius, that of Nero, by seeming modest and continent.

VI. It is probable, that from the motive of falling in with the humour of wayward and evil-minded princes, there have been politicians who were contradictory hypocrites, and have wore the semblance of vices which their natures revolted at; and what is worse, in order to prove they were tainted with them, have put a violence on their inclinations, and although it was with reluctance, have brought themselves to commit disorders which their dispositions abhorred. When people make a merit of delinquency, instead of that hypocrisy which is properly such on account of its counteracting virtue, they study another which is the reverse of it, because it feigns vice.

VII. But these very persons will affect to appear sincere, constant, grateful, and men of veracity. There never was any man, who was not desirous of dissembling or concealing those vices, which were opposite to the virtues, which constitute what is commonly called a good man, and therefore, the hypocrites who affect the shew of these virtues are innumerable.

VIII. I do not deny, that a man’s being more under the dominion of some vices than others, depends in a great measure on his constitution, which may be compared to a soil, where some passions take deeper root, and grow more vigorous than others. This man, without attempting to restrain it, suffers himself to be carried away by incontinence, but abhors cheating: another gives himself up to gluttony and drunkenness, but looks upon perfidy with horror and indignation. Thus it is; but his enmity to these vices, lasts no longer than till he has occasion for their assistance to indulge his passion for the others. Catiline, in the early part of his life, appeared to have no other passions than those of incontinence, ostentation, and prodigality; but these vices having reduced him to poverty, and he on that account not being able to continue his pursuits of them, formed the design of tyrannizing over the republic, in order to extricate himself from indigence. In consequence of this, he became ambitious, fierce, cruel, relentless, and perfidious.

IX. I am of opinion, that nobody should put much confidence in those, who are called good sort of men, if they see them much impressed with, or under the influence of particular passions. That vice which domineers over them, is to themselves the ultimate end or object, to which they direct all their attentions; or the idol, to which, if their occasions required it, they would sacrifice all other considerations. I do not pretend that there are no exceptions to this rule; the natural abhorrence of one vice, may predominate over the inclination to commit another. But I in all cases, and at all events, would sooner place my confidence in him, who from a religious fear of God has a regard to his conscience in all his actions, than in the man, who only from his natural disposition and temperament, or from a punctilio of honour, practises those virtues, which are commonly understood to constitute the character of what the world calls a good man; temperament lets go the rein, when the ruling passion becomes impetuous, and shews an eagerness to press forward; and honour loses its influence, when it is believed the commission of the bad act will not be known. The fear of God never ceases to operate.

X. The famous Magdalen Scudery, in her book, intituled, Moral Conversations, relates a remarkable story of a man, who risqued his life for a friend in three duels; but this friend afterwards, having occasion to beg he would lend him a small sum of money which he stood in need of, he refused to comply with his request. Who would believe, that a man who on repeated occasions, had hazarded his life for his friend, would have failed him in a thing of so much less consequence? He was both covetous and intrepid, but his avarice made him consider his life as less valuable than his money. His friendship contended with his ruling passion, and the last, as the most prevalent, pressed down and stifled the finer feelings.

XI. One of the greatest mistakes which men commit in their confidences, is that of trusting those, whom they have known to be unfaithful to others. This is an error which all men condemn, and which almost every one falls into. I confide my secret to him, who has recommended himself to my favour, by revealing that of another person. I give my friendship to the man, who in compliment to me has abandoned the patron who before protected him. This is the effect of our love for, and the superior conceit we entertain of ourselves. Every one fancies, that he has in himself a most powerful attraction, that will keep the heart of a person fixed and attached to him, who has been unfaithful to other people. He thinks, that it was the power of his singular merit, which made the man abandon his benefactor or friend, for the sake of allying himself to him. He is so full of his own consequence and rare qualities, that it never enters his imagination, nor does he even harbour the least suspicion, that this very person may see, or pretend to see, a higher degree of merit in another man, to which he might make the same sacrifice of his friendship. Princes and great men, whom the habit of being flattered is apt to make the most presumptuous, are those who are most liable to fall into this snare. How often do we see in courts, treachery rewarded with promotion! The maxim that we love the treason, but hate the traitor, is received by all the world in theory, but has very few votaries in practice. The traitor is displeasing to him, who dislikes the treason; but he who interests himself in the treason, looks on the traitor with favourable eyes. This is derived in a great measure, from calling things by wrong names. Treason is termed obsequiousness, and a traitor called friend; and jointly with this, they are apt to interpret, that some honest motive intervened to excite to the action; and in case they can’t find out any other than that of interest or convenience, they applaud the ability displayed in chusing the most beneficial side. Queen Elizabeth of England was a striking exception to this rule. An unfaithful Spaniard, sold to her for a stipulated price, a town in the Low Countries; and after he had so done, to avoid the punishment due to his demerit, went over to, and resided in England, where he offered his service to the Queen as an able military officer; to which she replied, “Go your ways, when I have occasion for any one to commit an act of treachery, I will make use of you.”

SECT. II.

XII. The perfect hypocrites are few in number. I call those perfect hypocrites, whose outside is all devotion, and who within, are all baseness and iniquity, or such as answer the description of the satyrist:

Upon serious reflection, it will not appear wonderful these are so few, for notwithstanding the road of hypocrisy is the shortest a man can pursue, to arrive at the temple of Fortune; still we rarely see men endued with a sufficient degree of perseverance, to engage in so laborious an undertaking; for conceive the practice of virtue to be ever so arduous, the pursuit of the feigned, is much more painful than that of the true. In order to carry it on, there is need of a constant studiousness, joined to a continual anxiety, and also an indefatigable watchfulness, to suppress the sallies of the soul, which without intermission is making efforts to disclose herself. There is no passion, which, like a wild beast chained, strives more forcibly to break its confinement, than that of dissimulation. The animal faculty of the heart is as plainly reflected on the countenance, as the vital is manifested in the artery. The tokens of their internal movements, may be compared to those of a clock, which has a bell that proclaims them, and a hand that points them out. There is not a word, nor an action, if not restrained by a contrary impetus, which would not follow the impulse of that animated machine. Curiosity and lust, importune and tempt a man’s eyes by turns; he is anxious to give vent to his bosom by his voice, and his brow manifests his impatience to do it; a pleasant jest provokes to laughter; an injury calls for vengeance; and the tongue and the ear are averse to silence. There is not a member which is not put under painful restrictions, nor a faculty that is not constrained, by being thus compelled to wear the forced appearance of composure. The strings, of which the harmony of an exterior modesty are composed, are infinite, and ought always to be kept violently on the stretch; the desires also of possessing beloved objects, are continually tapping at the doors of the senses. What force is sufficient to resist so many impulses? or what address, equal to managing so many reins at a time?

XIII. Add to this, the apprehension of their deceit being detected; for they look upon all the eyes that surround them as so many spies of their enemies; and they are very well aware, with all their caution, of the difficulty of always preserving their souls impenetrable to foreign inspection; for let them be never so careful in shutting up their windows, there will ever remain, by imperceptible omissions, innumerable crevices; and although they may succeed in deceiving the multitude, there are never wanting transcendent spirits, who can discern and distinguish, whereever they meet with it, the natural from the artificial. Let affection strive to imitate reality never so industriously; one or another will make his remarks, which, although they cannot be explained, may be conceived, and may be compared to the character of a language, which, notwithstanding you comprehend it, you can’t pronounce. The very means that are taken to conceal the soul, manifest and disclose it, because the reserve or caution that is used for this purpose is visible, and it is also visible and well known, that innocent people have no need of this disguise. Every man who uses great circumspection, makes himself suspected. He who is confirmed that he possesses a good conscience, acts and speaks with openness; nor would it avail a hypocrite, to endeavour at imitating that native frankness; for he never could hit upon the true criterion of the character. Those of experience and penetration, would always be able to distinguish the copy from the original; therefore I believe, that to this day, there never was a hypocrite who succeeded in deceiving all the world.

XIV. O how much less toilsome would it be, for hypocrites to tread the path of true virtue, than to pursue that of false! The first affords intervals of ease and tranquillity to the mind, and also administers to it many comforts; but the fiction of virtue, demands a constant labour of thought, and a continual stretch of invention to save appearances. It is like a fabric built in the air, which would fall to the ground, if you neglect to keep it propped up a minute.

XV. I may be told, that with time and practice, fiction would become habitual, and then a man would find no difficulty in dissembling. Truly I doubt whether habit has power to effect so much. When art fights against the whole bent or force of nature, I don’t think the case ever happened, of the first obtaining a complete triumph; but judge rather, that the last always remains with a residue of strength, sufficient to renew the combat. It sometimes falls out with a consummate hypocrite, as it happened to the cat converted to a fine lady in the fable of Æsop. She continued to sit with much studied composure at the table, till a rat entered the room; but instantly upon the animal’s appearing, hurried away by that native impulse which supersedes all caution, she with all her might threw herself on her beloved prey, and exposed her nature to the bye-standers.

XVI. But admitting, that, by long practice in deceit, a man could overcome all difficulties; this does not obviate the mistake of the hypocrites; for with a great deal less labour, and in a much less time, he could have made virtue more familiar to him than dissimulation. The first is most conformable to the inclination of man as a rational creature, and he only acts in contradiction to this principle as a sensitive one; the last is a violence on his nature, both as a rational and as a sensitive one. In a land of virtue, the soul may be said to live at home; in that of deceit, she resides as a total stranger. She certainly then must find more fatigue and trouble in familiarizing herself to deceit, and more difficulty in making dissimulation seem natural to her than virtue.

SECT. III.

XVII. There are notwithstanding, a certain species of hypocrites, who live without fatigue, and deceive with little trouble; because the appearances they wear of virtue, are partly owing to study, and partly to temperament or constitution. They want some vices, and conceal others; or the few virtues they possess, serve as a cloak or covering to hide greater vices. Thus it may be said, that the hypocrites of whom we spoke before, are always labouring against wind and tide, and never get on, but by the force of hard rowing. Those of whom we are about to speak now, are frequently assisted with a gale in their favour.

XVIII. Truly the pains the public take, to inform themselves of the virtues of mankind, are very slight and trivial; he who stands unimpeached in some determined particulars, may easily dispense with a great number of virtues. Emilius, for example, is regular and moderate in his diet, and is also modest in his conversation. He goes frequently to, and behaves devoutly at church, and abstains from all illicit commerce with the other sex. He needs nothing more, to make his virtue conspicuous and reverenced by the whole town; notwithstanding this, I know that this same Emilius, vexes his neighbours with unjust and litigious prosecutions, and I also see him anxious after, and solicitous to acquire honours and riches by all sorts of means. Whatever little injury he receives, is stamped on his memory in indelible characters; and although there is great plenty in his house, no poor are ever seen at his door. He assists with great pleasure in all murmurs and cabals, and especially if they are against some man of conspicuous merit, who is likely to rival him in the estimation of the public. He favours the unjust pretensions of his associates and dependants; and, when applauding or condemning the actions of others is the subject of conversation, his tongue is always guided by his prejudices or partialities. He sets no value on the virtues of others; and if he finds they are in any shape inconvenient or incommodious to himself, he depreciates them. I observe his fawnings on, and cringings to the great, and his slights and contempt of the poor. In fine, I don’t see a movement in this man, that does not point directly or indirectly to his own particular interest, which he seems determined to pursue, although in the road that lends to it, he should trample under foot, the rights and properties of other people.

XIX. With all this, the vulgar esteem him, as a just, religious, and devout man. Those few virtues are a skreen or shelter to a great number of vices. Ambition, avarice, envy, malice, and hatred, have built their nests in his breast; but all this is overlooked. The false brilliancy which glitters on the surface of his continence, and his temperance, dazzle the eyes of the public. This seems, as if the world thought all sin consisted in the criminal indulgence of corporeal inclinations, and that all wickedness, was confined to the operation or exercise of two or three senses. The devil is neither lascivious, nor a glutton, nor is he capable of perpetrating either of those vices, because the execution of them depends on the exertion of material powers; but he does not on this account cease in a moral sense, to be the worst of all creatures.

XX. The injustice of this opinion, and the evils arising from it, are most visible in the other sex. A woman by being chaste, thinks she has complied with, and fulfilled all the duties appertaining to virtue, and that, in consequence of her possessing this single good quality, she may without impeachment of her conduct, be allowed to commit every other vice with impunity. Thus having established the proofs of her chastity, she concludes she has a right to be arrogant, envious, passionate, and proud; and there even are women, whom the confirmation of their fame in point of chastity has made savage and insufferable. What plagues are such to their poor husbands, for they sell them that fidelity at an exorbitant price, which they owe to them as a just debt. Some authors have assigned this, as the motive of Paulus Æmilius having procured himself to be divorced from his first wife, the noble, chaste, beautiful, and prolific Papiria. Plutarch tells us of a Roman, who, when his friends blamed him for having got himself divorced from a chaste woman of great endowments, both of body and mind, pulled off one of his shoes, and shewing it to them, said, You see this shoe is new, handsome, and well made; but perhaps that is the very reason why it wrings and pinches my foot. By which he meant to insinuate, that the accomplishments of his wife made her proud and insufferable.

XXI. I must confess, that I have no patience with the distinction the world makes between vices appertaining to the same species, only because of the different methods which are used in the execution of them. He is not only esteemed a thief, but a most vile and base man, who clandestinely enters another’s house, and robs it of money and goods; and why does not he deserve to be stigmatized with the same epithets, who by making an unjust demand, or by using frauds, usurps another’s property. The trader, for instance, who takes more than a fair profit on his goods, or deceives with regard to the quality of what he sells; or the man in office, who demands or receives more than his due, or than his trouble deserves; and, above all, the judge who suffers himself to be bribed; I say, what difference is there between this first and last class of people? They are all cheats and robbers; and God will punish them all in the same manner, not regarding the means they used to impose on, but in proportion to the injury they did their neighbours. Notwithstanding all this, vast numbers of these people pass for very good christians; and not only so, but if they pray much, and count over many rosaries, hear mass every day, and have the insolence to frequent the sacraments, they are venerated as illustrious patterns of virtue.

XXII. But for all these may appear an heterogeneous or monstrous compound of virtue and vice, there is nothing belonging to them, which may not be supposed conformable to nature. Virtues and vices have the same root or origin, that is, the temperament or constitutions of mankind. Thus as there is no soil so inhospitable as to produce nothing but poisonous plants, neither is there any disposition so vitiated as to nourish nothing but perverse inclinations. In no individual is nature such an enemy to reason, as to oppose it in every thing. This man is urged by gluttony, but not incited by incontinence. Another burns with impatience to be rich, and knows no other happiness than that of possessing vast treasure. A third is swayed by pride and vain-glory; and provided he receives the homage he expects, no other passion disturbs him.

XXIII. To this we may add, that vice being very ugly and deformed, every one abhors those vices, that do not correspond, or fall in with his own inclinations, and is consequently led to admire those virtues with which they are contrasted. From hence it is common for men to be reciprocally offended and scandalized with the actions of each other. We see the faults of others in their proper shape and colours, and our own in the delusive form in which our appetites represent them to us. In the first we view the horrible, in the second the delectable. The picture which passion draws of vice, resembles that which was painted by Apelles of Antigonus. That monarch had but one eye, and the ingenious painter, to hide the blemish, drew him in profile, and exhibited only that part of his face in which there was no defect. Thus passion exposes to our view the flattering side only of our own vices; and conceals the deformed, but takes a quite opposite method in inspecting those of other people.

XXIV. I contemplate sometimes, but not without emotions of laughter, how the covetous man appears disgusted with, and to nauseate the incontinent one; and how the incontinent man, looks with horror and abomination on the avaricious one. All this happens, by the first not being stimulated by carnal desires; and the second not being diseased with the dropsical thirst of gold. Every man has his strong and his weak side, or may be said to be made of brass in one part, and glass in another; but every man, by excusing himself on the pretext of hiss own fragility, is not aware, that all others have the same right to disculpate themselves in the same manner; and if we were to make the proper reflection on this matter, we should not be such severe critics on the actions of our neighbours. Envy would be converted to compassion, and that which at present inflames hatred, would beget charity.

XXV. It is a common error, to apply to determined or particular species of sins only, the excuse of the frailty of human nature. This frailty as transcendent in all the passions, intervenes in all kinds of slips. There is no vice, which has not its natural fermentation in the complexion of the individual. The disorders which are the most distant from, or opposite to the reasonable faculties, find their patronage in the sensible ones. I confess I cannot comprehend, how in our nature, there can be contained geniuses so perverse, that they should take pleasure in doing mischief to other people, when by the act, no sensible good can result to themselves. With all this, it is certain that there are such people, and it is also certain, they behave in this manner, because they are under the dominion of this villainous disposition. But observe of what this frailty is compounded. If their malignant conduct did not afford them some considerable delight, they would not for the sake of indulging it run the hazard of incurring the public hatred.

XXVI. But it is proper to remark, that these men of whom we have been speaking, and who are compounded of virtue and vice, are not what they seem to be by their outside appearance. I mean, that even the virtues they are supposed to possess, will upon enquiry be found not so properly to deserve the name of virtues, as that of the mere want or absence of vices. Observe Chrysantus: he abstains from all commerce with the other sex; and you may be led to think, this abstinence proceeds from virtue; but you would mistake, for it is the effect of insensibility; he has no stimulus which incites him to desire women, and therefore we may conclude, there is no more merit in his continence, than may be imputed to the trunk of a tree. If his abstinence had been the effect of his fear of God, he would not have been so inattentive to his conscience in other respects. Observe Aurelius: he is very sparing and moderate in his diet, both with regard to eating and drinking. You may conclude this proceeds from temperance; no such thing: Aurelius wants an appetite; the case of him, in this respect, is like that of a man in a fever, who forbears to eat, because he is not able; but you see, he is capable of swallowing all the goods and money he can lay his hands on; from whence we may suppose, that if his stomach was as voracious as his heart, he would be another Heliogabalus.

XXVII. These are hypocrites by constitution; and temperament compleats in them, what study does in other people; theirs is not virtue, but only the semblance or image of it, although it is an image which is not formed by art, but nature.

XXVIII. I have heard it said, that in the court of Rome, when they deliberate about the canonization of a saint, the point they examine with, the greatest caution and nicety, is that of disinterestedness, but when the proof of this excellence is once established, they are not so prolix in their other enquiries; but abstracted from whether this is, or is not their mode of proceeding, it appears to me a very rational one on two accounts; the first is, that disinterestedness does not depend, or depends very little and remotely, on constitution; and therefore we should conclude, this good quality is more an acquisition of virtue, than a gift of nature. The second is, because this excellence may be supposed to imply or contain in it many others. The reason is, money being the means with which men gratify all their passions, it may be said to serve as an auxiliary and assistant to every kind of vice; and a man’s not being greedy of money, is a token that he is of greatly under the dominion of vice. Avarice is under the controul of, and made the hackney implement of all other vices. The incontinent man seeks money to indulge his carnal desires; the glutton to satiate his intemperate and beastly appetite; the ambitious man to attain promotion; and the vindictive one to revenge himself of, and destroy his enemy. The same may be said of all other things. He then who is not anxious for money, we may conclude, is not tainted with those vices; or we may at least take disinterestedness, to be the best and most certain indication of virtue.

XXIX. Those who are idolizers of applause, are not good, but great spirits. Enamoured with the beauty of human glory, they either are not diseased or infected with the other passions, or disdain to subject themselves to their controul. In the republic of vices also, there are distinctions of classes, and some usurp to themselves, without any just pretension to it, the rank of nobility. This presumption produces the utility, of their disdaining to mix with others of inferior order. As one of this last sort we may reckon avarice, and thus the vain-glorious man will always be upon his guard to avoid falling into this meanness.

XXX. I am persuaded, that if we were to investigate nicely, the cause or origin, of all the heroic actions that are to be met with in the profane annals, we should find many more children of vice, than of virtue among them. The anxious hope of reward, has been the occasion of winning more battles, than the love we bear to our country. How many triumphs have been owing to emulation and envy! Alexander was stimulated by the glory of Achilles, Cæsar by that of Alexander; and Pompey, when he gave battle, had his attention more fixed on the victories of Cæsar, than the troops of the enemy. Many have done great things, from much more criminal incitements; for they have made their obsequies a ladder, wherewith to ascend to tyranny. How many have served a state, with a view of making the state subservient to themselves, and have first made it victorious, in order afterwards to enslave it! This was frequent and common among the most celebrated men of Greece. For this reason, eminent services to the republic became so suspicious in Athens, that they devised the law of ostracism to punish them as crimes; and they condemned to banishment, those who distinguished themselves by their great and conspicuous actions.

XXXI. You see the same thing happen with regard to services done to private people, that you do in those rendered to a state, which is, that we frequently attribute to motives of fidelity and affection, what the person employed, executed only with an eye to his own interest; but when the dependence ceases, the real or true motive immediately displays itself.

XXXII. So that upon making it just estimate of things, we shall find, that the world is full of hypocrites; some who wear the deceitful appearance of particular virtues, and others who are dissemblers with respect to all of them. The emperor Frederic the third said, as we are told by Æneas Silvius, that there was not any man whatever, who had not a spice of the hypocrite in his composition.

XXXIII. We should not approve, or adopt so severe a judgment; but it would be necessary in my opinion, that all princes should partake of the doubt or distrust of Frederic; for they are those who are most abused by, and the least aware of hypocrites. There is scarce any one, who lays himself quite open when he is before them. The same who are free and unreserved among their equals, are hypocrites in the presence of their superiors; and there is hardly a man, who, prior to his appearing before the person who commands him, does not daub his soul all over with washes, and give false colourings to his spirit, in the same manner, that a strumpet paints her face before the goes abroad, and exhibits herself to public view. Momus wished there was a window in the breast of man, whereby to discover the secrets of the bosom; but I should be contented with a door, of which the owner should keep one key, and his superior the other. These however are all flights of fancy. What reason dictates is, that the works of God are perfect.

SECT. IV.

XXXIV. It would affect me much, if, because I proceed to take off the mufflings and coverings of vice, the world should think me one of those suspicious geniuses, who will not give any person credit for acting from good motives, and who am always endeavouring to put sinister interpretations on the causes of other peoples conduct. Those who are intimate with me, well know, that my spirit is not diseased with that truly malignant malady; and some have remarked in me a contrary defect, to wit, that of too benevolent and charitable a criticism on the behaviour of other men. Perhaps the experience of the deceits and impositions that have been put upon me, from my easiness in crediting the appearances of virtue, have made these few reflections more obvious to me; which nevertheless, shall always rest with me in mere theory; for I am persuaded that in the practice, my natural genius, and disposition would ever prevail over them, as also my remembrance, that in the moral, it is better to err through compassion, than to do right from motives of spite and envy. I would wish to conduct my pen so delicately, that it should wound hypocrisy, without offending charity; and I would expose the artifices of hypocrites in such a way, as should not alarm or disturb the quiet of the innocent and simple.

XXXV. I will also acknowledge, that as time has helped me to discover in some people many vices, which I could not have believed; it has also assisted me to discern many virtues in others, which I had no conception of. Thus the judgment of a good-intentioned man being poised in equilibrio between reason and experience, it is easy to imagine, that his genius and disposition will incline the balance to the charitable side.

XXXVI. I have taken notice of a thing which is a little remarkable, and that is, that great virtues are less perceptible than small ones. This is derived from the exercise of them not being so frequent, and the value of them, not being generally understood. The going regularly to church, exterior modest deportment, taciturnity and fasting, are virtues, which strike the eyes of every one, because they are daily practised, and every body knows them. There are other virtues, that are more substantial, and which spring from more noble roots, that the vulgar are unacquainted with, because they are carried about by those who are masters of them, like ladies who go abroad incog. without the ostentatious parade and show of equipage. There are men (would to God there were more of them!) who with an open carriage, and the free correspondence and intercourse of an ordinary life, and who do not seem the least sensible or affected with mysterious niceties, that nourish within their breasts, a robust virtue and solid piety, impenetrable to the most furious batteries of the three enemies of the soul. Let Sir Thomas More, that just, wise, and prudent Englishman, whom I have always regarded with profound respect, and a tenderness approaching to devotion; I say let this man serve as an example to all men, and stand as a pattern to future ages, of all the virtues and excellencies I have been describing.

XXXVII. If we view the exterior part of the life of Sir Thomas More, we only see an able politician, simple in his manners, engaged in a department of the state, and attentive to the affairs of the king and kingdom, always suffering himself to be wafted by the gale of fortune, without soliciting honours, and without refusing to accept of them; in private life, open, courteous, gentle, cheerful, and even fond of a convivial song, frequently partaking in the halls of mirth, of the jovial relaxations of the mind, and in the circulation of wit and pleasantry; always innocent, but never shewing the least symptom of austerity. His application in literature was directed, indifferently and alternately, to the study of sacred and profane learning, and he made great advances in both the one and the other. His great application to, and proficiency in the living languages of Europe, represent him as a genius desirous of accommodating himself to the world at large. His works, except such as he composed in prison during the last year of his life, seemed more to savour of politics than religion. I speak of the subject of them, not of the motive with which he wrote them. In his description of Utopia, which was truly ingenious, delicate, and entertaining, he lets his pen run so much on the interests of the state, as makes it seem as if he was indifferent about the concerns of religion.

XXXVIII. Who, in this image or description of Sir Thomas More, would recognize that glorious martyr of Christ, and that generous hero, whose constancy to the obligations of his religion could not be bent or warped, neither by the threats or promises of Henry VIII. nor a hard imprisonment of fourteen months, nor the persuasions and intreaties of his wife, nor by the sad prospect of seeing his family and children reduced to misery and beggary, nor by the privation of all human comfort, in taking from him all his books, nor finally by the terrors of a scaffold placed before his eyes? So certain is it, that the qualities of great souls are not to be discovered, but by the touch-stone of great occasions and hard trials, and may be compared to large flints, which only manifest their smooth or shining surfaces by the execution of hard blows.

XXXIX. Sir Thomas More was the same while he was a prisoner of state, as when he was High Chancellor of England; the same in adverse, as in prosperous fortune; the same ill treated, as in high favour; the same in the prison, as seated at the head of the Court of Chancery; but adversity, manifested and made visible his whole heart, of which the greatest and best part had before lain hid. This great man, used to give to his own virtues an air of humanity and condescension, which in the eyes of the vulgar abated their splendour; but in proportion as it obscured the lustre of them to their view, it augmented it in the sight of all men of discernment and penetration. It once happened when he was High Chancellor, that a gentleman, who had a suit depending before him, made him a present of two silver bottles: it was inconsistent with his dignity or integrity to accept the present; and how did Sir Thomas conduct himself? Did he fall into a passion against the suitor for having offered an affront to his reputation? Did he punish the criminal audacity of the man, for attempting to corrupt and make venal the functions of his duty? Did he manifest before his domestics any disinterested delicacy, or appear scandalized at the temptation? No; he did none of all this, because nothing of this sort was correspondent to the nobleness or generous turn of his mind. He received the bottles with a good grace, and immediately gave orders to one of his servants to fill them with the best wine he had in his cellar, and carry them back to the gentleman, together with this courteous message, That it gave him great pleasure to have an opportunity of obliging him, and that any sort of wine he had in his house was much at his service. Expressing, by this prudent seeming insensibility or want of apprehension, that he supposed that was the purpose for which the gentleman sent the bottles. In this manner, he joined integrity to gentleness of reproof, and correction with courteous behaviour; and by so much the less parade he made of his own purity, by so much the more was the confusion of the gentleman diminished.

XL. It is clear, that the heroic constancy with which he supported his adherence to his religion, was not the effect of a strained violence on his nature, but proceeded from innate virtue, which acts in all things, and on all occasions, according to the habitual dispositions of the mind; for always, to the very crisis of his suffering, he preserved the native cheerfulness of his disposition. He did not appear less festive, nor less tranquil in chains, than he had before appeared in the banquet room. During the time of his trial he was all composure, and when it was drawing near a conclusion, and those iniquitous judges, who had already sacrificed their consciences to the will of their sovereign, were on the point, to please and flatter him, of delivering that innocent man, as a victim to his resentment, the barber came to shave him, and just as he was going to begin his work, Sir Thomas recollected himself, and said Hold, as the King and I at present are contending to whom this head belongs, in case it should be adjudged to him, it would be wrong for me to rob him of the beard, so you must desist. Being about to ascend the scaffold, and finding himself feeble, he begged one who was near to aid him in getting up the ladder, saying to him at the same time, Assist me to get up, for be assured I shan’t trouble you to help me down again. O eminent virtue! O spirit truly sublime, who mounted the scaffold with the same festive cheerfulness, that he would sit down to a banquet! Let men of little minds and narrow souls contemplate this example, and learn to know, that true virtue does not consist in the observance of forms and scrupulous niceties.

SECT. V.

XLI. O how many antipodes in morality to Sir Thomas More are to be found in every state! for both in the east and the west, you will meet with many of those ridiculous scarecrows, who lead a kind of hermetic life, and are called sanctified or holy men; but those of this day do not mortify themselves so much, but offend other people more, than those of former times were used to do. With a displeasing gravity, and forbidding look that amounts to sour sternness; a conversation so opposite to the cheerful, that it borders on the extreme of clownish surliness; a zeal so harsh and severe, that it degenerates into cruelty; a scrupulous observance of rites and ceremonies, that approaches to superstition; and by the mere want or absence of a few vices; I say, that with the help of these appearances, they, without more cost or trouble, set themselves up as patterns or images of ultimate perfection; and they are truly images in the strict sense of the word, for their whole value consists in their external shape and figure; and I besides call them images, because they are not endued or informed with a true, but with the sham semblance of a spirit. I repeat again that they are images, because they are hard as marble, and insensible and unfeeling as the trunks of trees. In the morality that directs them, gentleness of manners, affability, and pity, are blotted out of the catalogue of virtues. I have not even yet said enough. Those two sensible characteristics of charity, pointed out by St. Paul, that is to say, patience and benevolence, are so foreign to their dispositions, that they are inclined to consider them as signs of relaxation of discipline, or at least of lukewarmness. They assume the figure of saints, without possessing more sanctity than the stock or stone images of such, and would number themselves among the blessed, wanting the requisites which the gospel expresses to constitute them such, and make them deserving of being inserted in that catalogue, which are meekness, compassion, and a conciliatory spirit. Beati mites, beati misericordes, beati pacifici.

XLII. It is also certain, that virtue is tinctured with, or wears a different hue, according to the genius or disposition of the subject in whom it exists, and on this account, in different individuals it appears in different colours. Notwithstanding this, we ought in the mixture or combination, to distinguish what is derived solely from virtue, and what is produced by the intervention of constitution. There are men of a harsh, choleric, unpleasant cast of mind, who at the same time are virtuous; but their virtue on this account is not harsh, choleric, and displeasing, but rather in its operations, by means of its innate good qualities, corrects those defects. The misfortune is, that these defects of temper, confound the understanding and pervert the judgment; and in consequence of this perversion of the judgment, virtue is prevented from amending the defects of the genius. A virtuous man, who is of an impetuous, violent disposition, and inclining to the morose, when placed in command, is easily brought to think; he finds himself in circumstances where prudence dictates that he should use rigour; whereas one of an excessive gentle and mild genius, can never persuade himself that contingent is arrived. Both one and the other discharge and preserve their consciences, and the public are the sufferers by their mistakes, but in a very different degree, according to the diversity of the employments or destinations of such people. The very gentle man is most pernicious in external policy, and the rigorous in internal. An excess of clemency, and forbearing to put in execution criminal laws, in cases where the offences committed are injurious to the public at large, is a very great evil. In matters that concern the reformation, or internal amendment of souls, rigour is not only useless, but prejudicial, because the fear of temporal punishment does not make penitents, but hypocrites; it only removes the external execution of vice, and concentrates the evil intention within the soul, where it produces a new sin, in the hatred it excites against the judge.

SECT. VI.

XLIII. I have observed, that for the sincere conversion or turning of mens hearts, benignity and gentle treatment has done miracles, in cases where rigour has been found ineffectual. Two illustrious examples of this sort, which in different ages have been exhibited on the theatre of France, occur to me at present. The first is that of Peter Abelard, a most subtle logician, and famous broacher of heresies in the twelfth century. The adventures of this man were extraordinary, and he for the most part experienced adverse fortune. He suffered many persecutions, some of which were unjust ones; but neither the just nor the unjust were capable of subduing his mind, or mitigating the contentious vivacity of his spirit. His errors, after innumerable debates, were condemned by the council of Sens, at which St. Bernard assisted. He appealed from the sentence to Pope innocent the Second, who confirmed the decision of the council; and added to it, that his books should be burnt, and the author imprisoned for life. Abelard had an infinite number of enemies, many of whom were not so from their zeal to religion, but from many other very different motives. As an augmentation of his misfortunes, there was scarce any one who did not exclaim against him, and cry aloud for the execution of the sentence. In this deplorable situation of Abelard, there was only one man who had generosity enough to take the favourable side of the question, and interest himself on his behalf. This was that most pious and wise person St. Peter the Venerable, abbot of the great monastery of Cluny, who solicited and obtained of the Pope, Abelard’s pardon. He also reconciled him with St. Bernard, which amounted to the same thing as indemnifying him against the public hatred. Besides this, as a remedy for all his reverses of fortune, he offered him an asylum in his monastery of Cluny, which monastery received him in its arms like a loving father, and gave him the habit of a monk.

It will be proper to observe here, that Eloisa, a sensible, beautiful, and noble French lady, was in her youth in love with, and beloved by Abelard, to such an excess, that their love broke through all the fences of honour. Historians relate a very singular circumstance of this woman, which is, that Abelard being desirous of marrying her, she, notwithstanding her prodigious fondness for him, rejected the proposal, and chose rather to continue his concubine than be his wife, alledging as her motive for this conduct, that she would not, by her marriage, deprive the church of the great lustre that might be reflected on it by the sublime genius of Abelard, although in the end, she, by the importunities and threats of her friends and relations, was prevailed on to espouse him. She afterwards took the veil, and became an exemplary religious. She always maintained a very tender and affectionate correspondence with Abelard, but at the same time in very chaste terms, and such as were conformable to the rules of virtue and decorum. As soon as she was informed of Abelard’s death, she begged of St. Peter the Venerable, that he would let her have his body, that she might bury it in the convent where she was prelate; and the pious abbot granted her request. It appears by the epistles of Abelard, that Eloisa was universally beloved and respected for her virtue and discretion. He says, the bishops loved her as a daughter, the abbesses as a sister, and the seculars a mother.

The effect which this generous benignity of St. Peter the Venerable had upon Abelard, was admirable. He not only became a monk, but a most exemplary one, and a shining pattern of all kinds of virtues, of which St. Peter the Venerable gives irrefragable testimony in his letter to Eloisa on the occasion of his death, which letter is filled with the highest eulogiums on the virtues of Abelard. He says in one part of it, that he does not remember to have seen a man so humble as him; and in another, that it was matter of admiration, to observe a person so famous and of so great a name, have so lowly an opinion of himself. In another, he says, his understanding, his tongue, and his works, were always employed on celestial objects. And in another, he compares him to the great Gregory in the following words: Nec (sicut de magno Gregorio legitur) momentum aliquod præterire sinebat, quin semper aut oraret, aut legeret, aut scriberet, aut dictaret. These eulogiums are confirmed, and if possible exceeded, in the Chronicle of the Monastery of Cluny, which says, that, from the time of his taking the habit of a monk, his thoughts, words, and actions, were always divine: Et deinde mens ejus, lingua ejus, opus ejus, semper divina fuere.

XLIV. So that this man, who could not be made to bend to the most learned men of France, who were engaged in continual controversies with him; nor to the force of the civil power, exerted against him various times at the instance of his enemies; nor to the ecclesiastical prelates, nor to the authority of a council, nor to the zeal and learning of a St. Bernard: This man, I say, on whom all these exertions had no influence, submitted to the gentle, compassionate, and benevolent spirit of St. Peter the Venerable. The estimation and tenderness, with which this saint always regarded Abelard after his conversion, was very great, as is evident from two epitaphs he wrote to grace his tomb. I shall insert a part of each of them here, by which may be seen the high opinion he entertained of the learning and wisdom of this eminent man.

First Epitaph.