employment a man is of, or the country he was born in, because you give him an opportunity of screening the joy he feels upon his own account, under the esteem which he pretends to have for others.

It is common among cunning men, that understand the power which flattery has upon pride, when they are afraid they shall be imposed upon, to enlarge, though much against their conscience, upon the honor, fair dealing, and integrity of the family, country, or sometimes the profession of him they suspect; because they know that men often will change their resolution, and act against their inclination, that they may have the pleasure of cortinuing to appear, in the opinion of some, what they are conscious not to be in reality. Thus sagacious moralists draw men like angels, in hopes that the pride at least of some will put them upon copying after the beautiful originals which they are represented to be.

When the incomparable Sir Richard Steele, in the usual elegance of his easy style, dwells on the praises of his sublime species, and with all the embellishments of rhetoric sets forth the excellency of human nature, it is impossible not to be charmed with his happy turns of thought and the politeness of his expressions. But, though I have been often moved by the force of his eloquence, and ready to swallow the ingenious sophistry with pleasure, yet I could never be so serious but, reflecting on his artful encomiums, I thought on the tricks made use of by the women that would teach children to be mannerly. When an awkward girl, before she can either speak or go, begins after many entreaties to make the first rude essays of curtesying, the nurse falls in an ecstasy of praise. "There's a delicate curtesy! O fine Miss! There's a pretty lady! Mamma! Miss can make a better curtesy than her sister Molly!" The same is echoed over by the maids, whilst mamma almost hugs the child to pieces; only Miss Molly, who, being four years older, knows how to make a very handsome curtesy, wonders at the perverseness of their judgment, and, swelling with indignation, is ready to cry at the injustice that is done her, till, being whispered in the ear that it is only to please the baby, and that she is a woman, she grows proud at being let into the secret, and, rejoicing at the superiority of her understanding, repeats what has been said with large additions, and insults over the weakness of her sister,

whom all this while she fancies to be the only bubble among them. These extravagant praises would, by any one above the capacity of an infant, be called fulsome flatteries, and (if you will) abominable lies; yet experience teaches us that by the help of such gross encomiums young misses will be brought to make pretty curtesies and behave themselves womanly, much sooner and with less trouble than they would without them. 'T is the same with boys, whom they'll strive to persuade that all fine gentlemen do as they are bid, and that none but beggar boys are rude or dirty their clothes; nay, as soon as the wild brat with his untaught fist begins to fumble for his hat, the mother, to make him pull it off, tells him before he is two years old that he is a man, and, if he repeats that action when she desires him, he's presently a captain, a Lord Mayor, a king, or something higher if she can think of it, till, egged on by the force of praise, the little urchin endeavors to imitate man as well as he can, and strains all his faculties to appear what his shallow noddle imagines he is believed to be.

The meanest wretch puts an inestimable value upon himself, and the highest wish of the ambitious man is to have all the world, as to that particular, of his opinion. So that the most insatiable thirst after fame that ever hero was inspired with, was never more than an ungovernable greediness to engross the esteem and admiration of others in future ages as well as his own; and (what mortification soever this truth might be to the second thoughts of an Alexander or a Cæsar) the great recompense in view, for which the most exalted minds have with so much alacrity sacrificed their quiet, health, sensual pleasures, and every inch of themselves, has never been anything else but the breath of man, the aerial coin of praise. .

A SEARCH INTO THE NATURE OF SOCIETY

The generality of moralists and philosophers have hitherto agreed that there could be no virtue without self-denial; but a late author, who is now much read by men of sense, is of a contrary opinion, and imagines that men, without any trouble or violence upon themselves, may be naturally virtuous. He seems to require and expect goodness in his species, as we do a sweet taste in grapes and China oranges, of which, if any of them are sour, we boldly pronounce that they are not come to that per

fection their nature is capable of. This noble writer (for it is the Lord Shaftesbury I mean, in his Characteristics) fancies that, as man is made for society, so he ought to be born with a kind affection to the whole of which he is a part, and a propensity to seek the welfare of it. In pursuance of this supposition, he calls every action performed with regard to the public good, virtuous, and all selfishness, wholly excluding such a regard, vice. In respect to our species he looks upon virtue and vice as permanent realities, that must ever be the same in all countries and ages, and imagines that a man of sound understanding, by following the rules of good sense, may not only find out that pulchrum et honestum both in morality and the works of art and nature, but likewise govern himself by his reason with as much ease and readiness as a good rider manages a well-taught horse by the bridle.

The attentive reader, who perused the foregoing part of this book, will soon perceive that two systems cannot be more opposite than his Lordship's and mine. His notions, I confess, are generous and refined; they are a high compliment to humankind, and capable, by the help of a little enthusiasm, of inspiring us with the most noble sentiments concerning the dignity of our exalted nature. What pity it is that they are not true! I would not advance thus much if I had not already demonstrated, in almost every page of this treatise, that the solidity of them is inconsistent with our daily experience. But, to leave not the least shadow of an objection that might be made unanswered, I design to expatiate on some things which hitherto I have but slightly touched upon, in order to convince the reader, not only that the good and amiable qualities of man are not those that make him beyond other animals a sociable creature, but, moreover, that it would be utterly impossible either to raise any multitudes into a populous, rich, and flourishing nation, or, when so raised, to keep and maintain them in that condition, without the assistance of what we call evil, both natural and moral.

The better to perform what I have undertaken, I shall previously examine into the reality of the pulchrum et honestum, the Tò kaλóv that the ancients have talked of so much. The meaning of this is to discuss whether there be a real worth and excellency in things, a preeminence of one above another,

which everybody will always agree to that well understands them, or that there are few things, if any, that have the same esteem paid them, and which the same judgment is passed upon, in all countries and all ages. When we first set out in quest of this intrinsic worth, and find one thing better than another, and a third better than that, and so on, we begin to entertain great hopes of success; but when we meet with several things that are all very good or all very bad, we are puzzled, and agree not always with ourselves, much less with others. There are different faults, as well as beauties, that, as modes and fashions alter, and men vary in their tastes and humors, will be differently admired or disapproved of.

Judges of painting will never disagree in opinion, when a fine picture is compared to the daubing of a novice; but how strangely have they differed as to the works of eminent masters! There are parties among connoisseurs, and few of them agree in their esteem as to ages and countries; and the best pictures bear not always the best prices: a noted original will be ever worth more than any copy that can be made of it by an unknown hand, though it should be better. The value that is set on paintings depends not only on the name of the master, and the time of his age he drew them in, but likewise in a great measure on the scarcity of his works, and—what is still more unreasonable — the quality of the persons in whose possession they are, as well as the length of time they have been in great families. And if the cartoons now at Hampton Court were done by a less famous hand than that of Raphael, and had a private person for their owner, who would be forced to sell them, they would never yield the tenth part of the money which, with all their gross faults, they are now esteemed to be worth.

In morals there is no greater certainty. Plurality of wives is odious among Christians, and all the wit and learning of a great genius in defense of it has been rejected with contempt; but polygamy is not shocking to a Mahometan. What men have learned from their infancy enslaves them, and the force of custom warps nature, and at the same time imitates her in such a manner that it is often difficult to know which of the two we are influenced by. In the East formerly sisters married brothers, and it was meritorious for a man to marry his mother. Such alliances are abominable; but it is certain that, whatever horror

we conceive at the thoughts of them, there is nothing in nature repugnant against them, but what is built upon mode and custom. A religious Mahometan, that has never tasted any spirituous liquor, and has often seen people drunk, may receive as great an aversion against wine as another with us, of the least morality and education, may have against marrying his sister, and both imagine that their antipathy proceeds from nature. Which is the best religion? is a question that has caused more mischief than all other questions together. Ask it at Peking, at Constantinople, and at Rome, and you'll receive three distinct answers extremely different from one another, yet all of them equally positive and peremptory. Christians are well assured of the falsity of the pagan and Mahometan superstitions; as to this point there is a perfect union and concord among them; but inquire of the several sects they are divided into, Which is the true Church of Christ? and all of them will tell you it is theirs, and, to convince you, go together by the ears.

It is manifest, then, that the hunting after this pulchrum et honestum is not much better than a wild-goose chase that is but little to be depended upon. But this is not the greatest fault I find with it. The imaginary notions that men may be virtuous without self-denial are a vast inlet to hypocrisy, which being once made habitual, we must not only deceive others, but likewise become altogether unknown to ourselves; and in an instance I am going to give, it will appear how, for want of duly examining himself, this might happen to a person of quality of parts and erudition, one every way resembling the author of the Characteristics himself.

A man that has been brought up in ease and affluence, if he is of a quiet, indolent nature, learns to shun everything that is troublesome, and chooses to curb his passions more because of the inconveniencies that arise from the eager pursuit after pleasure, and the yielding to all the demands of our inclinations, than any dislike he has to sensual enjoyments. And it is possible that a person educated under a great philosopher,1 who was a mild and good-natured as well as able tutor, may in such happy circumstances have a better opinion of his inward state than it really deserves, and believe himself virtuous because his passions lie dormant. He may form fine notions of the social 1 John Locke (in Shaftesbury's case).