But as these rules are, I believe, none of them without some exceptions; as they are of no use, but to an observer of much penetration; lastly, as a more subtle hypocrisy will sometimes escape undiscovered from the highest discernment; let us see if we have not a more infallible guide to direct us to the knowledge of men; one more easily to be attained, and on the efficacy of which, we may with the greatest certainty rely.
And, surely, the actions of men seem to be the justest interpreters of their thoughts, and the truest standards by which we may judge them. By their fruits you shall know them is a saying of great wisdom, as well as authority. And indeed, this is so certain a method of acquiring the knowledge I contend for, that, at first appearance, it seems absolutely perfect, and to want no manner of assistance.
There are, however, two causes of our mistakes on this head; and which lead us into forming very erroneous judgments of men, even while their actions stare us in the face, and, as it were, hold a candle to us, by which we may see into them.
Misc. WRITINGS I — 19
The first of these is, when we take their own words against their actions. This (if I may borrow another illustration from physic) is no less ridiculous than it would be of a learned professor of that art, when he perceives his light-headed patient is in the utmost danger, to take his word that he is well. This error is infinitely more common than its extreme absurdity would persuade us was possible. And many a credulous person hath been ruined by trusting to the assertions of another, who must ‘have preserved himself, had he placed a wiser confidence in his actions.
The second is an error still more general. This is when we take the colour of a man’s actions, not from their own visible tendency, but from his public character: when we believe what others say of him, in opposition to what we see him do. How often do we suffer ourselves to be deceived, out of the credit of a fact, or out of a just opinion of its heinousness, by the reputed dignity or honesty of the person who did it? How common are such ejaculations as these? “Oh! it is impossible he should be guilty of any such thing; he must have done it by mistake; he could not design it. I will never believe any ill of him. So good a man!” &c., when, in reality, the mistake lies only in his character. Nor is there any more simple, unjust, and insufficient method of judging mankind, than by public estimation, which is oftener acquired by deceit, partiality, prejudice, and such like, than by real desert. I will venture to affirm, that I have known some of the best sort of men in the world, (to use the vulgar phrase) who would not have scrupled cutting a friend’s throat; and a fellow, whom no man should be seen to speak to, capable of the highest acts of friendship and benevolence.
Now it will be necessary to divest ourselves of both those errors, before we can reasonably hope to attain any adequate knowledge of the true characters of men. Actions are their own best expositors; and though crimes may admit of alleviating circumstances, which may properly induce a judge to mitigate the punishment; from the motive for instance, as ncccssity may lessen the crime of robbery, when compared to wantonness or vanity; or from circumstance attending the fact itself, as robbing a stranger, or an enemy, compared with committing it on a friend or benefactor; yet the crime is still robbery, and the person who commits it is a robber; though he should pretend to have done it with a good design, or the world should concur in calling him an honest man.
But I am aware of another objection, which may be made to my doctrine, viz admitting that the actions of men are the surest evidence of their character, that this knowledge comes too late; that it is to caution us against a highwayman after he hath plundered us, or against an incendiary after he hath fired our house.
To which I answer, that it is not against force, but deceit, which I am here seeking for armour, against those who can injure us only by obtaining our good opinion. If, therefore, I can instruct my reader, from what sort of persons he is to withhold his opinion, and inform him of all, or at least the principal arts, by which deceit proceeds to ingratiate itself with us, by which he will be effectually enabled to defeat his purpose, I shall have sufficiently satisfied the design of this essay.
And here, the first caution I shall give him is against flattery, which I am convinced no one uses, without some design on the person flattered. I remember to have heard of a certain nobleman, who, though he was an immoderate lover of receiving flattery himself, was so far from being guilty of this vice to others, that he was remarkably free in telling men their faults. A friend, who had his intimacy, one day told him, he wondered that he who loved flattery better than any man living, did not return a little of it himself, which he might be sure would bring him back such a plentiful interest. To which he answered, though he admitted the justness of the observation, he could never think of giving away what he was so extremely covetous of. Indeed, whoever knows any thing of the nature of men, how greedy they are of praise, and how backward in bestowing it on others; that it is a debt seldom paid, even to the greatest merit, till we are compelled to it, may reasonably conclude, that this profusion, this voluntary throwing it away on those who do not deserve it, proceeds, as Martial says of a beggar’s present, from some other motive than generosity or good-will.
But indeed there are few, whose vanity is so foul a feeder to digest flattery, if undisguised j it must impose on us, in order to allure us; before we can relish it, we must call it by some other name; such as, a just esteem of, and respect for our real worth; a debt due to our merit, and not a present to our pride.
Suppose it should be really so, and we should have all these great or good qualities which are extolled in us; yet, considering, as I have said above, with what reluctance such debts are paid, we may justly suspect some design in the person, who so readily and forwardly offers it to us. It is well observed, that we do not attend, without uneasiness, to praises in which we have no concern, much less shall we be eager to utter and exaggerate the praise of another, without some expectations from it.
A flatterer, therefore, is a just object of our distrust, and will, by prudent men, be avoided.
Next to the flatterer, is the professor, who carries his affection to you still farther; and on a slight, or no acquaintance, embraces, hugs, kisses, and vows the greatest esteem for your person, parts, and virtues. To know whether this friend is sincere, you have only to examine into the nature of friendship, which is always founded either on esteem or gratitude, or perhaps on both. Now, esteem, admitting every requisite for its formation present, and these are not a few, is of very slow growth; it is an involuntary affection, rather apt to give us pain than pleasure, and therefore meets with no encouragement in our minds, which it creeps into by small and almost imperceptible degrees; and, perhaps, when it hath got an absolute possession of us, may require some other ingredient to engage our friendship to its own object. It appears then pretty plain, that this mushroom passion here mentioned, owes not its original to esteem. Whether it can possibly flow from gratitude, which may, indeed, produce it more immediately, you will more easily judge; for though there are some minds, whom no benefits can inspire with gratitude, there are more, I believe, who conceive this affection without even a supposed obligation. If, therefore, you can assure yourself it is impossible he should imagine himself obliged to you, you may be satisfied that gratitude is not the motive to his friendship. Seeing then that you can derive it from neither of these fountains, you may well be justified in suspecting its falsehood; and, if so, you will act as wisely in receiving it into your heart as he doth who knowingly lodges a viper in his bosom, or a thief in his house. Forgive the acts of your enemies hath been thought the highest maxim of morality: Fear the professions of your friends is, perhaps, the wisest.
The third character against which an open heart should be alarmed, is a Promiser; one who rises another step in friendship. The man, who is wantonly profuse of his promises, ought to sink his credit as much as a tradesman would by uttering a great number of promissory notes, payable at a distant day. The truest conclusion in both cases is, that neither
intend, or will be able, to pay. And as the latter, most probably, intends to cheat you of your money, so the former, at least, designs to cheat you of your thanks; and it is well for you, if he hath no deeper purpose, and that vanity is the only evil passion to which he destines you a sacrifice.
I would not be here understood to point at the promises of political great men, which they are supposed to lie under a necessity of giving in great abundance, and the value of them is so well known, that few are to be imposed on by them. The professor I here mean, is he, who on all occasions is ready, of his own head, and unasked, to promise favours. This is such another instance of generosity as his who relieves his friend in distress by a draught on Aldgate pump.1 Of these there are several kinds, some who promise what they never intend to perform; others who promise what they are not sure they can perform; and others again, who promise so many, that, like debtors, being not able to pay all their debts, they afterwards pay none.
The man who is inquisitive into the secrets of your affairs, with which he hath no concern, is another object of your ‘A mercantile phrase for a bad note. caution. Men no more desire another’s secrets to conceal them, than they would another’s purse for the pleasure only of carrying it.
Nor is a slanderer less wisely to be avoided, unless you choose to feast on your neighbour’s faults, at the price of being served up yourself at the tables of others; for persons of this stamp are generally impartial in their abuse. Indeed, it is not always possible totally to escape them; for being barely known to them, is a sure title to their calumny; but the more they are admitted to your acquaintance, the more you will be abused by them.
I fear the next character I shall mention may give offence to the grave part of mankind; for whose wisdom and honesty I have an equal respect; but I must, however, venture to caution my open-hearted reader against a saint. No honest and sensible man will understand me, here, as attempting to declaim against sanctity of morals. The sanctity I mean is that which flows from the lips, and shines in the countenance. It may be said, perhaps, that real sanctity may wear these appearances; and how shall we then distinguish with any certainty, the true from the fictitious? In answer, that if we admit this to be possible, yet, as it is likewise possible that it may be only counterfeit, and, as in fact it is so ninety-nine times in a hundred, it is better that one real saint should suffer a little unjust suspicion than ninety-nine villains should impose on the world, and be enabled to perpetrate their villainies under this mask.
But to say the truth; a sour, morose, ill-natured, censorious sanctity, never is, nor can be sincere. Is a readiness to despise, to hate, and to condemn, the temper of a Christian? Can he, who passes sentence on the souls of men with more delight and triumph than the devil can execute it, have the impudence to pretend himself a disciple of One who died for the sins of mankind? Is not such a sanctity the true mark of that hypocrisy, which in many places of Scripture, and particularly in the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew, is so bitterly inveighed against?
As this is a most detestable character in society; and. as its malignity is more particularly bent against the best and worthiest men, the sincere and open-hearted, whom it persecutes with inveterate envy and hatred, 1 shall take some pains in the ripping it up, and exposing the horrors of its inside, that we may all shun it; and at the same time will endeavour so plainly to describe its outside, that we shall hardly be liable, by any mistake, to fall into its snares.
With regard then to the inside (if I am allowed that expression) of this character, the Scripture-writers have employed uncommon labour in dissecting it. Let us hear our Saviour Himself, in the chapter above cited. “It devours widows’ houses; it makes its proselytes twofold more the children of hell; it omits the weightier matters of law, judgment, mercy, and faith; it strains 1 off a gnat, and swallows a camel; it is full of extortion and excess.” St. Paul, in his First Epistle to Timothy, says of them, “That they speak lies, and their conscience is seared with a red-hot iron.” And in many parts of the Old Testament, as in Job; “Let the hypocrite reign not, lest the people be ensnared:” And Solomon in his Proverbs; “An hypocrite with his mouth destroyeth his neighbour.”
In the several texts, most of the enormities of this character are described; but there is one which deserves a fuller comment, as pointing at its very essence: I mean the thirteenth verse of the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew, where Jesus addresses himself thus to the Pharisees: “Hypocrites; for ye shut up the kingdom of Heaven against men; for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in.”
This is an admirable picture of sanctified hypocrisy, which will neither do good itself, nor suffer others to do it. But if we understand the text figuratively, we may apply it to that 1 So is the Greek, which the translators have mistaken; they render it, strain at a gnat, i e struggle in swallowing; whereas, in reality, the Greek word is, to strain through a cullender; and the idea is, that though they pretend their consciences are so fine, that a gnat is with difficulty strained through them, yet they can, if they please, open them wide enough to admit a camel. censorious quality of this vice, which, as it will do nothing honestly to deserve repiltation, so is it ever industrious to deprive others of the praises due to their virtues. It confines all merit to those external forms which are fully particularised in Scripture; of these it is itself a rigid observer; hence, it must derive all honour and reward in this world, nay, and even in the next, if it can impose on itself so far as to imagine itself capable of cheating the Almighty and obtaining any reward there.
Now a galley-slave, of an envious disposition, doth not behold a man free from chains, and at his ease, with more envy than persons in these fetters of sanctity view the rest of mankind, especially such as they behold without them entering into the kingdom of Heaven. These are, indeed, the objects of their highest animosity, and are always the surest marks of their detraction. Persons of more goodness than knowledge of mankind, when they are calumniated by these saints, are, I believe, apt to impute the calumny to an ignorance of their real character; and imagine, if they could better inform the said saints of their innate worth, they should be better treated by them; but, alas! this is a total mistake; the more good a sanctified hypocrite knows of an open and an honest man, the more he envies and hates him, and the more ready he is to seize or invent an opportunity of detracting from his real merit.
But envy is not their only motive of hatred to good men; they are eternally jealous of being seen through, and, consequently, exposed by them. A hypocrite, in society, lives in the same apprehension with a thief who lies concealed in the midst of the family he is to rob; for this fancies himself perceived, when he is least so; every motion alarms him; he fears he is discovered, and is suspicious that every one, who enters the room, knows where he is hid, and is coming to seize him. And thus, as nothing hates more violently than fear, many an innocent person, who suspects no evil intended him, is detested by him who intends it.
Now, in destroying the reputation of a virtuous and good man, the hypocrite imagines he hath disarmed his enemy of all weapons to hurt him; and, therefore, this sanctified hypocrisy is not more industrious to conceal its own vices, than to obscure and contaminate the virtues of others. As the business of such a man’s life is to procure praise by acquiring and maintaining an undeserved character; so is his utmost care employed to deprive those, who have an honest claim to the character himself affects only, of all emoluments which would otherwise arise to them from it.
The prophet Isaiah speaks of these people, where he says, “Woe unto them who call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness,” &c. In his sermon on which text the witty Dr. South hath these words:— “Detraction is that killing, poisonous arrow, drawn out of the devil’s quiver, which is always flying about, and doing execution in the dark, against which, no virtue is a defence, no innocence a security. It is a weapon forged in hell, and formed by that prime artificér and engineer, the devil; and none bu
t that great God who knows all things, and can do all things, can protect the best of men against it.”
To these, likewise, Martial alludes in the following lines:
“Ut bene loquator sentiatque Mamercus,
Efficere nullis, Aule, moribus possis.”
I have been somewhat diffusive in the censorious branch of this character, as it is a very pernicious one; and (according to what I have observed) little known and attended to. I shall not dscribe all its other qualities. Indeed, there is no species of mischief which it doth not produce. For, not to mention the private villainies it daily transacts, most of the great evils which have affected society, wars, murders and massacres, have owed their original to this abominable vice; which is the destroyer of the innocent, and protector of the guilty; which hath introduced all manner of evil into the world, and hath almost expelled every grain of good out of it. Doth it not attempt to cheat men into the pursuit of sorrow and misery, under the appearance of virtue, and to frighten them from mirth and pleasure under the colour of vice, or, if you please, sin? Doth it not attempt to gild over that’ poisonous potion, made up of malevolence, austerity, and such cursed ingredients, while it embitters the delightful draught of innocent pleasure with the nauseous relish of fear and shame?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 412
