Our delicacy will not bear to have this matter pushed home, and brought directly to ourselves. Our self-love revolts against the imputation; and no man applies so severe a censure to his own case, or that of his acquaintance.
Let us look abroad, then, for what we are willing to shift off so far from us. Let us look for this opprobrious character in ancient times, and distant regions, with which we may take greater liberties, and concerning which we may discourse without offence. And when we have found it, let us only remember that the character is no ideal one; that it is fairly taken from the annals of human nature, and may therefore, in part at least, concern ourselves.
A noble Roman is described by ONE who knew him well, in the following manner[145]: “He possessed, in a wonderful degree, the faculty of engaging all men to himself, by every art of address, and the most obsequious application to their humours, purposes, and designs. His fortune, his interest, nay his person, was wholly their’s; and he was ready to shew his attachment to them by every service, and, if occasion required it, by every crime. He had the most perfect dexterity in moulding his own nature, and shaping it into all forms. The men of austere morals he could gain to himself, by a well-dissembled severity; the more free and libertine sort, by an unrestrained gaiety. He could equally adapt himself to the vivacity of youth, and to the gravity of old age: with men of bold spirits and factious designs, he was prompt, enterprizing, audacious; with the men of pleasure, he could be licentious, luxurious, dissolute.”
What think ye, now, of this character? With so various and pliable a disposition, could he fail of being popular? And with so total a want of principle, can we doubt of his being abandoned? He was, in truth, both the one and the other. He was the favourite[146], and the pest of his country: in a word, this man was, Catiline.
But let us turn our thoughts from such a prodigy, and conclude only from the instance here given, that a character may be much applauded and very worthless; and that, to be well spoken of by all, in a certain extent of those words, one must be, if not a Catiline, yet an unquestionably vicious and corrupt man.
I have now gone through the several topics, I proposed to illustrate in this discourse.
My more immediate design was, to explain and justify the text; to shew that it spake not without reason when it spake, perhaps, somewhat differently from our expectations; and that our divine master had abundant cause to pronounce a woe on those, of whom the world is so ready to speak well.
But in doing this, I persuade myself, I have done more; and, in shewing the reasons of this woe, have said enough to repress and mortify that lust of general praise, which is so fatal to our virtue, as well as happiness. For what can be more likely to restrain men from this folly, than to let them see, that the prize, they so ambitiously contend for, would be a misfortune to them, if it could be obtained; since a very general praise is rarely conferred, at best, but upon a feeble imperfect state of virtue; is, frequently, the reward of positive ill-desert; and is, sometimes, the pay, that men receive for the greatest crimes.
These considerations shew the only true praise to be that which a well informed mind gives to itself. This praise is pure and unmixed; is only bestowed on real merit; and is nicely proportioned to the several degrees of it. It is the earnest too of every other praise, which ought to be precious to us. For, when conscience approves, good men and angels are ready to applaud: nay, when a man’s heart condemns him not, then has he confidence towards God[147].
To conclude: it is in this contention of human life, as in those games of which the ancient world was so fond: the success consists not in the acclamations of the attending multitude, but in the crown which the victor receives at the hands of the appointed judge. If he obtains that great prize, it is of little moment whether the rest follow or not. The applause of the by-standers may add to the noise and pageantry of the day; but the triumph is sincere and complete without it.