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hypocrisy, as being the art of counterfeiting those qualities which we might with innocence and safety, be known to want. Thus the man who, to carry on any fraud, or to conceal any crime, pretends to rigours of devotion, and exactness of life, is guilty of hypocrisy; and his guilt is greater, as the end, for which he puts on the false appearance, is more pernicious. But he that, with an awkward address, and unpleasing countenance, boasts of the conquests made by him among the ladies, and counts over the thousands which he might have possessed if he would have submitted to the yoke of matrimony, is chargeable only with affectation. Hypocrisy is the necessary burthen of villany, affectation part of the chosen trappings/ of folly; the one completes a villain, the other only finishes a fop. Contempt is the proper punishment of affectation, and detestation the just consequence of hypocrisy.
With the hypocrite it is not at present my intention to expostulate, though even he might be taught the excellency of virtue, by the necessity of seeming to be virtuous; but the man of affectation may, perhaps, be reclaimed, by finding how little he is likely to gain by perpetual constraint, and incessant vigilance, and how much more securely he might make his way to esteem, by cultivating real, than displaying counterfeit qualities.
Every thing future is to be estimated, by a wise man, in proportion to the probability of attaining it, and its value, when attained ; and neither of these considerations will much contribute to the
encouragement of affectation. For, if the pinnacles of fame be, at best, slippery, how unsteady must his footing be who stands upon pinnacles without foundation! If praise be made by the inconstancy and maliciousness of those who must confer it, a blessing which no man can promise himself from the most conspicuous merit and vigorous industry, how faint must be the hope of gaining it, when the uncertainty is multiplied by the weakness of the pretensions! He that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his happiness to the winds ; but he that endeavours after it by false merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, but the leaks of his vessel. Though he should happen to keep above water for, a time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea, at the first gust he must inevitably founder, with this melancholy reflection, that, if he would have been content with his natural station, he might have escaped his calamity. Affectation may possibly succeed for a time, and a man may, by great attention, persuade others, that he really has the qualities which he presumes to boast ; but the hour will come when he should exert them, and then, whatever he enjoyed in praise, he must suffer in reproach.
Applause and admiration are by no means to be counted among the necessaries of life, and therefore any indirect arts to obtain them have very little claim to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely any man without some valuable or improveable qualities, by which he might always secure himself from contempt. And perhaps exemption from ignominy is the most eligible reputation, as freedom from pain is, among some philosophers, the definition of happiness.
If we therefore compare the value of the praise obtained by fictitious excellence, even while the cheat is yet undiscovered, with that kindness which every man may suit by his virtue, and that esteem to which most men may rise by common understanding steadily and honestly applied, we shall find that when from the adscititious happiness all the deductions are made by fear and casualty, there will remain nothing equiponderant to the security of truth. The state of the possessor of humble virtues, to the affecter of great excellencies, is that of a small cottage of stone, to the palace raised with ice by the empress
of Russia; it was for a time splendid and luminous, but the first sunshine melted it to nothing.1
i The ice-palace was built by the Empress Anne in 1740. Cowper, in The Winter Morning Walk (l. 128), addressing the "Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ,” describes :“Thy most magnificent and mighty freak,
The wonder of the North. No forest fell
No. 24. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1750.
Nemo in sese tentat descendere.-PERSIUS. 1
MONG the precepts, or aphorisms, ad
mitted by general consent, and inculcated by frequent repetition, there is
none more famous among the masters of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson, TvūOl geavtòv, Be acquainted with thyself; ascribed by some to an oracle, and by others to Chilo of Lacedemon.
This is, indeed, a dictate, which, in the whole extent of its meaning, may be said to comprise all the speculation requisite to a moral agent. For what more can be necessary to the regulation of life, than the knowledge of our original, our end, our duties, and our relation to other beings ?
It is however very improbable that the first author, whoever he was, intended to be understood in this unlimited and complicated sense ; 1 Satires, iv. 23.
None, none descends into himself, to find
DRYDEN, Aldine ed., vol. v., p. 191. 2 In a Latin poem which Johnson wrote with this title, on the completion of his Dictionary,'" he has left," says Arthur Murphy, “a picture of himself, drawn with as much truth, and as firm a hand as can be seen in the portraits of Hogarth or Sir Joshua Reynolds.”—Murphy's Essay on Johnson, p. 82. The poem is given in Johnson's Works, i. 164.
for of the inquiries, which in so large an acceptation it would seem to recommend, some are too extensive for the powers of man, and some require light from above, which was not yet indulged to the heathen world.
We might have had more satisfaction concerning the original import of this celebrated sentence, if history had informed us, whether it was uttered as a general instruction to mankind, or as a particular caution to some private inquirer ; whether it was applied to some single occasion, or laid down as the universal rule of life.
There will occur, upon the slightest consideration, many possible circumstances, in which this monition might very properly be inforced : for every error in human conduct must arise from ignorance in ourselves, either perpetual or temporary ; and happen either because we do not know what is best and fittest, or because our knowledge is at the time of action not present to the mind.
When a man employs himself upon remote and unnecessary subjects, and wastes his life upon questions which cannot be resolved, and of which the solution would conduce very little to the advancement of happiness ; when he lavishes his hours in calculating the weight of the terraqueous globe, or in adjusting successive systems of worlds beyond the reach of the telescope ; he may be very properly recalled from his excursions by this precept, and reminded, that there is a nearer being with which it is his duty to be more acquainted; and from which his attention has