I have called it a virtue, and shall take the same method to prove it such, as we commonly use to demonstrate any other action or habit to be a virtue, that is, by showing its usefulness, and the great good it does to society. What can be said to the contrary, has already been said by every body; and indeed it is so little to the purpose, that any body may easily say it: but the path I mean to tread, has hitherto been trod by no body; if therefore I should meet with the difficulties usual in tracing new roads, and be in some places a little at loss, the candor of the reader will the more readily excuse me.
The first advantage I shall mention, arising from the free practice of censure or backbiting, is, that it is frequently the means of preventing powerful, political, ill-designing men, from growing too popular for the safety of a state. Such men are always setting their best actions to view, in order to obtain confidence and trust, and establish a party: they endeavor to shine with false or borrowed merit, and carefully conceal their real demerit: (that they fear to be evil spoken of is evident from their striving to cover every ill with a specious pretence;) but all-examining censure, with her hundred eyes and her thousand tongues, soon discovers and as speedily divulges in all quarters, every the least crime or foible that is a part of their true character. This clips the wings of their ambition, weakens their cause and party, and reduces them to the necessity of dropping their pernicious designs, springing from a violent thirst of honor and power; or, if that thirst is unquenchable, they are obliged to enter into a course of true virtue, without which real grandeur is not to be attained.
Again, the common practice of censure is a mighty restraint upon the actions of every private man; it greatly assists our otherwise weak resolutions of living virtuously. What will the world say of me, if I act thus? Is often a reflection strong enough to enable us to resist the most powerful temptation to vice or folly. This preserves the integrity of the wavering, the honesty of the covetous, the sanctity of some of the religious, and the chastity of all virgins. And, indeed, when people once become regardless of censure, they are arrived to a pitch of impudence little inferior to the contempt of all laws humane and divine.
The common practice of censure is also exceedingly serviceable, in helping a man to the knowledge of himself, a piece of knowledge highly necessary for all, but acquired by very few, because very few sufficiently regard and value the censure past by others on their actions. There is hardly such a thing as a friend, sincere or rash enough to acquaint us freely with our faults; nor will any but an enemy tell us of what we have done amiss, to our faces; and enemies meet with little credit in such cases, for we believe they speak from malice and ill-will: thus we might always live in the blindest ignorance of our own folly, and, while every body reproached us in their hearts, might think our conduct irreproachable: but thanks be to providence, (that has given every man a natural inclination to backbite his neighbor) we now hear of many things said of us, that we shall never hear said to us; (for out of goodwill to us, or ill will to those that have spoken ill of us, every one is willing enough to tell us how we are censured by others,) and we have the advantage of mending our manners accordingly.
Another vast benefit arising from the common practice of backbiting, is, that it helps exceedingly to a thorough knowledge of mankind, a science the most useful of all sciences. Could we come to know no man of whom we had not a particular experience, our sphere of knowledge of this sort would certainly be narrow and confined, and yet at the same time must probably have cost us very dear. For the crafty tricking villain would have a vast advantage over the honest undesigning part of men, when he might cheat and abuse almost every one he dealt with, if none would take the liberty to characterize him among their acquaintance behind his back.
Without saying any more in its behalf, I am able to challenge all the orators or writers in the world, to show (with solid reason) that the few trifling inconveniencies attending it, bear any proportion to these vast benefits! And I will venture to assert to their noses, that nothing would be more absurd or pernicious than a law against backbiting, if such a law could possibly take effect; since it would undoubtedly be the greatest encouragement to vice that ever vice met with, and do more towards the increasing it, than would the abolishing of all other laws whatsoever.
I might likewise have mentioned the usefulness of censure in society, as it is a certain and an equal punishment for such follies and vices as the common laws either do not sufficiently punish, or have provided no punishment for. I might have observed, that were it not for this, we should find the number of some sorts of criminals increased to a degree sufficient not only to infest, but even to overthrow all good and civil conversation: but it is endless to enumerate every particular advantage arising from this glorious virtue! A virtue, which whoever exerts, must have the largest share of public spirit and self-denial, the highest benevolence and regard to the good of others; since in this he entirely sacrifices his own interest, making not only the persons he accuses, but all that hear him, his enemies; for all that deserve censure (which are by far the greatest number) hate the censorious;
That dangerous weapon, wit,
frightens a million when a few you hit:
whip but a cur as you ride thro’ a town,
and strait his fellow curs the quarrel own:
each knave or fool that’s conscious of a crime,
though he escapes now, looks for it another time.
A virtue! Decried by all that fear it, but a strong presumption of the innocence of them that practice it; for they cannot be encouraged to offend, from the least prospect of favor or impunity; their faults or failings will certainly meet with no quarter from others. And whoever practices the contrary, always endeavoring to excuse and palliate the crimes of others, may rationally be suspected to have some secret darling vice, which he hopes will be excused him in return. A virtue! Which however ill people may load it with the opprobrious names of calumny, scandal, and detraction, and I know not what; will still remain a virtue, a bright, shining, solid virtue, of more real use to mankind than all the other virtues put together; and indeed, is the mother or the protectress of them all, as well as the enemy, the destructress of all kinds of vice. A virtue, innately, necessarily, and essentially so; for——but, dear reader, large folio volumes closely written, would scarce be sufficient to contain all the praises due to it. I shall offer you at present only one more convincing argument in its behalf, viz. That you would not have had the satisfaction of seeing this discourse so agreeably short as I shall make it, were it not for the just fear I have of incurring your censure, should I continue to be troublesome by extending it to a greater length.
THE PENNSYLVANIA GAZETTE, SEPTEMBER 12, 1732
Mr. Gazetteer,
I was highly pleased with your last week’s paper upon scandal, as the uncommon doctrine therein preached is agreeable both to my principles and practice, and as it was published very seasonably to reprove the impertinence of a writer in the foregoing Thursday’s Mercury, who at the conclusion of one of his silly paragraphs, laments, forsooth, that the fair sex are so peculiarly guilty of this enormous crime: every blockhead ancient and modern, that could handle a pen, has I think taken upon him to cant in the same senseless strain. If to scandalize be really a crime, what do these puppies mean? They describe it, they dress it up in the most odious frightful and detestable colors, they represent it as the worst of crimes, and then roundly and charitably charge the whole race of womankind with it. Are they not then guilty of what they condemn, at the same time that they condemn it? If they accuse us of any other crime, they must necessarily scandalize while they do it: but to scandalize us with being guilty of scandal, is in itself an egregious absurdity, and can proceed from nothing but the most consummate impudence in conjunction with the most profound stupidity.
This, supposing, as they do, that to scandalize is a crime; which you have convinced all reasonable people, is an opinion absolutely erroneous. Let us leave then these idiot mock-moralists, whi
le I entertain you with some account of my life and manners.
I am a young girl of about thirty-five, and live at present with my mother. I have no care upon my head of getting a living, and therefore find it my duty as well as inclination, to exercise my talent at censure, for the good of my country folks. There was, I am told, a certain generous emperor, who if a day had passed over his head, in which he had conferred no benefit on any man, used to say to his friends, in Latin, diem perdidi, that is, it seems, I have lost a day. I believe I should make use of the same expression, if it were possible for a day to pass in which I had not, or missed, an opportunity to scandalize somebody: but, thanks be praised, no such misfortune has befell me these dozen years.
Yet, whatever good I may do, I cannot pretend that I first entered into the practice of this virtue from a principle of public spirit; for I remember that when a child, I had a violent inclination to be ever talking in my own praise, and being continually told that it was ill manners, and once severely whipped for it, the confined stream formed itself a new channel, and I began to speak for the future in the dispraise of others. This I found more agreeable to company, and almost as much so to my self: for what great difference can there be, between putting your self up, or putting your neighbor down? Scandal, like other virtues, is in part its own reward, as it gives us the satisfaction of making our selves appear better than others, or others no better than ourselves.
My mother, good woman, and I, have heretofore differed upon this account. She argued that scandal spoilt all good conversation, and I insisted that without it there could be no such thing. Our disputes once rose so high, that we parted tea-table, and I concluded to entertain my acquaintance in the kitchen. The first day of this separation we both drank tea at the same time, but she with her visitors in the parlor. She would not hear of the least objection to any ones character, but began a new sort of discourse in some such queer philosophical manner as this; I am mightily pleased sometimes, says she, when I observe and consider that the world is not so bad as people out of humor imagine it to be. There is something amiable, some good quality or other in every body. If we were only to speak of people that are least respected, there is such a one is very dutiful to her father, and methinks has a fine set of teeth; such a one is very respectful to her husband; such a one is very kind to her poor neighbors, and besides has a very handsome shape; such a one is always ready to serve a friend, and in my opinion there is not a woman in town that has a more agreeable air and gait. This fine kind of talk, which lasted near half an hour, she concluded by saying, I do not doubt but every one of you have made the like observations, and I should be glad to have the conversation continued upon this subject. Just at that juncture I peeped in at the door, and never in my life before saw such a set of simple vacant countenances; they looked somehow neither glad, nor sorry, nor angry, nor pleased, nor indifferent, nor attentive; but, (excuse the simile) like so many blue wooden images of rye dough. I in the kitchen had already begun a ridiculous story of Mr.—’s intrigue with his maid, and his wife’s behavior upon the discovery; at some passages we laughed heartily, and one of the gravest of mamas company, without making any answer to her discourse, got up to go and see what the girls were so merry about: she was followed by a second, and shortly after by a third, till at last the old gentlewoman found herself quite alone, and being convinced that her project was impracticable, came her self and finished her tea with us; ever since which Saul also has been among the prophets, and our disputes lie dormant.
By industry and application, I have made my self the center of all the scandal in the province, there is little stirring but I hear of it. I began the world with this maxim, that no trade can subsist without returns; and accordingly, whenever I received a good story, I endeavored to give two or a better in the room of it. My punctuality in this way of dealing gave such encouragement, that it has procured me an incredible deal of business, which without diligence and good method it would be impossible for me to go through. For besides the stock of defamation thus naturally flowing in upon me, I practice an art by which I can pump scandal out of people that are the least inclined that way. Shall I discover my secret? Yes; to let it die with me would be inhuman. If I have never heard ill of some person, I always impute it to defective intelligence; for there are none without their faults, no not one. If she is a woman, I take the first opportunity to let all her acquaintance know I have heard that one of the handsomest or best men in town has said something in praise either of her beauty, her wit, her virtue, or her good management. If you know anything of humane nature, you perceive that this naturally introduces a conversation turning upon all her failings, past, present, and to come. To the same purpose, and with the same success, I cause every man of reputation to be praised before his competitors in love, business, or esteem on account of any particular qualification. Near the times of election, if I find it necessary, I commend every candidate before some of the opposite party, listening attentively to what is said of him in answer: (but commendations in this latter case are not always necessary, and should be used judiciously;) of late years I needed only observe what they said of one another freely; and having for the help of memory taken account of all informations and accusations received, whoever peruses my writings after my death, may happen to think, that during a certain term, the people of Pennsylvania chose into all their offices of honor and trust, the veriest knaves, fools and rascals in the whole province. The time of election used to be a busy time with me, but this year, with concern I speak it, people are grown so good natured, so intent upon mutual feasting and friendly entertainment, that I see no prospect of much employment from that quarter.
I mentioned above, that without good method I could not go thro my business: in my father’s life-time I had some instruction in accounts, which I now apply with advantage to my own affairs. I keep a regular set of books, and can tell at an hour’s warning how it stands between me and the world. In my daybook I enter every article of defamation as it is transacted; for scandals received in, I give credit; and when I pay them out again, I make the persons to whom they respectively relate debtor. In my journal, I add to each story by way of improvement, such probable circumstances as I think it will bear, and in my ledger the whole is regularly posted.
I suppose the reader already condemns me in his heart, for this particular of adding circumstances; but I justify that part of my practice thus. ’Tis a principle with me, that none ought to have a greater share of reputation than they really deserve; if they have, ’tis an imposition upon the public: I know it is every ones interest, and therefore believe they endeavor, to conceal all their vices and follies; and I hold, that those people are extraordinary foolish or careless who suffer a fourth of their failings to come to public knowledge: taking then the common prudence and imprudence of mankind in a lump, I suppose none suffer above one fifth to be discovered: therefore when I hear of any persons misdoing, I think I keep within bounds if in relating it I only make it three times worse than it is; and I reserve to my self the privilege of charging them with one fault in four, which, for aught I know, they may be entirely innocent of. You see there are but few so careful of doing justice as my self; what reason then have mankind to complain of scandal? In a general way, the worst that is said of us is only half what might be said, if all our faults were seen.
But alas, two great evils have lately befallen me at the same time; an extreme cold that I can scarce speak, and a most terrible toothache that I dare hardly open my mouth: for some days past I have received ten stories for one I have paid; and I am not able to balance my accounts without your assistance. I have long thought that if you would make your paper a vehicle of scandal, you would double the number of your subscribers. I send you herewith account of 4 knavish tricks, 2 cracked almonds, 5 culdms, 3 drubbed wives, and 4 henpecked husbands, all within this fortnight; which you may, as articles of news, deliver to the public; and if my toothache continues, shall send you more; being, in the mean time, your constant
reader,
Alice Addertongue
I thank my correspondent Mrs. Addertongue for her good-will; but desire to be excused inserting the articles of news she has sent me; such things being in reality no news at all.
The Discussion Club
Franklin was a consummate networker. He liked to mix his civic life with his social one, and he merrily leveraged both to further his business life. This approach was displayed when he formed a club of young workingmen, in the fall of 1727 shortly after his return to Philadelphia, that was commonly called “The Leather Apron Club” and officially dubbed “The Junto.”
Franklin’s little club was composed of enterprising tradesmen and artisans, rather than the social elite who had their own fancier gentlemen’s clubs. At first the members went to a local tavern for their Friday evening meetings, but soon they were able to rent a house of their own. There they discussed issues of the day, debated philosophical topics, devised schemes for self-improvement, and formed a network for the furtherance of their own careers.
The enterprise was typical of Franklin, who seemed ever eager to organize clubs and associations for mutual benefit, and it was also typically American. As the nation developed a shopkeeping middle class, its people balanced their individualist streaks with a propensity to form clubs, lodges, associations and fraternal orders. Franklin epitomized this Rotarian urge and has remained, after more than two centuries, a symbol of it.
A Benjamin Franklin Reader Page 9
