TRUE COURTESY.
Politeness is the art of pleasing. It is to the deportment what the
finer touches of the pencil are to the picture, or what harmony is to
music. In the formation of character, it is indispensably requisite. "We
are all," says Locke, "a kind of chameleons, that take a tincture from
the objects which surround us." True courtesy, indeed, chiefly consists
in accommodating ourselves to the feelings of others, without descending
from our own dignity, or denuding ourselves of our own principles. By
constant intercourse with society, we acquire what is called politeness
almost intuitively, as the shells of the sea are rendered smooth by the
unceasing friction of the waves; though there appears to be a natural
grace about the well-bred, which many feel it difficult to attain.
Religion itself teaches us to honor all men, and to do unto others as we
would others do unto us. This includes the whole principle of courtesy,
which in this we may remark, assimilates to the principle of justice. It
comprises, indeed, all the moral virtues in one, consisting not merely
in external show, but having its principle in the heart. The politeness
which superficial writers are fond of describing, has been defined as
"the appearance of all the virtues, without possessing one of them;" but
by this is meant the mere outward parade, or that kind of artificial
adornment of demeanor, which owes its existence to an over-refinement of
civility. Anything forced or formal is contrary to the very character of
courtesy, which does not consist in a becoming deportment alone, but is
prompted and guided by a superior mind, impelling the really polite
person to bear with the failings of some, to overlook the weakness of
others, and to endure patiently the caprices of all. Indeed, one of the
essential characteristics of courtesy is good nature, and an inclination
always to look at the bright side of things.
The principal rules of politeness are, to subdue the temper, to submit
to the weakness of our fellow men, and to render to all their due,
freely and courteously. These, with the judgment to recommend ourselves
to those whom we meet in society, and the discrimination to know when
and to whom to yield, as well as the discretion to treat all with the
deference due to their reputation, station, or merit, comprise, in
general, the character of a polite man, over which the admission of even
one blot or shade will throw a blemish not easily removed.
Sincerity is another essential characteristic of courtesy; for, without
it, the social system would have no permanent foundation or hope of
continuance. It is the want of this which makes society, what it is said
to be, artificial.
Good breeding, in a great measure, consists in being easy, but not
indifferent; good humored, but not familiar; passive, but not
unconcerned. It includes, also, a sensibility nice, yet correct; a tact
delicate, yet true. There is a beautiful uniformity in the demeanor of a
polite man; and it is impossible not to be struck with his affable air.
There is a golden mean in the art, which it should be every body's
object to attain, without descending to obsequiousness on the one hand,
or to familiarity on the other. In politeness, as in everything else,
there is the medium betwixt too much and too little, betwixt constraint
and freedom; for civilities carried to extreme are wearisome, and mere
ceremony is not politeness, but the reverse.
The truly pious people are the truly courteous. "Religion," says
Leighton, "is in this mistaken sometimes, in that we think it imprints a
roughness and austerity upon the mind and carriage. It doth, indeed, bar
all vanity and lightness, and all compliance;" but it softens the
manners, tempers the address, and refines the heart.
Pride is one of the greatest obstacles to true courtesy that can be
mentioned. He who assumes too much on his own merit, shows that he does
not understand the simplest principles of politeness. The feeling of
pride is, of itself, highly culpable. No man, whether he be a monarch on
the throne, or the meanest beggar in his realm, possesses any right to
comport himself with a haughty or discourteous air towards his fellow
men. The poet truly says:
"What most ennobles human nature,
Was ne'er the portion of the proud."
It is easy to bestow a kind word, or assume a gracious smile; these
will recommend us to every one; while a haughty demeanor, or an austere
look, may forfeit forever the favor of those whose good opinion we may
be anxious to secure. The really courteous man has a thorough knowledge
of human nature, and can make allowances for its weaknesses. He is
always consistent with himself. The polite alone know how to make others
polite, as the good alone know how to inspire others with a relish for
virtue.
Having mentioned pride as being opposed to true politeness, I may class
affectation with it, in that respect. Affectation is a deviation from,
at the same time that it is an imitation of, nature. It is the result of
bad taste, and of mistaken notions of one's own qualities. The other
vices are limited, and have each a particular object; but affectation
pervades the whole conduct, and detracts from the merit of whatever
virtues and good dispositions a man may possess. Beauty itself loses its
attraction, when disfigured by affectation. Even to copy from the best
patterns is improper, because the imitation can never be so good as the
original. Counterfeit coin is not so valuable as the real, and when
discovered, it cannot pass current. Affectation is a sure sign that
there is something to conceal, rather than anything to be proud of, in
the character and disposition of the persons practicing it.
In religion, affectation, or, as it is fitly called, hypocrisy, is
reprehensible in the highest degree. However grave be their deportment,
of all affected persons, those who, without any real foundation, make
too great pretensions to piety, are certainly the most culpable. The
mask serves to conceal innumerable faults, and, as has been well
remarked, a false devotion too often usurps the place of the true. We
can less secure ourselves against pretenders in matters of religion,
than we can against any other species of impostors; because the mind
being biased in favor of the subject, consults not reason as to the
individual. The conduct of people, which cannot fail to be considered an
evidence of their principles, ought at all times to be conformable to
their pretensions. When God alone is all we are concerned for, we are
not solicitous about mere human approbation.
Hazlitt says:--"Few subjects are more nearly allied than these
two--vulgarity and affectation. It may be said of them truly that 'thin
partitions do their bounds divide.' There cannot be a surer proof of a
low origin or of an innate meanness of disposition, than to be always
talking and thinking of being genteel. One must feel a strong tendency
to that which one is always trying to avoid; whenever we pretend, on all
occasions, a mighty contempt for anything, it is a pretty clear sign
that we feel ourselves very nearly on a level with it. Of the two
classes of people, I hardly know which is to be regarded with most
distaste, the vulgar aping the genteel, or the genteel constantly
sneering at and endeavoring to distinguish themselves from the vulgar.
These two sets of persons are always thinking of one another; the lower
of the higher with envy, the more fortunate of their less happy
neighbors with contempt. They are habitually placed in opposition to
each other; jostle in their pretensions at every turn; and the same
objects and train of thought (only reversed by the relative situations
of either party) occupy their whole time and attention. The one are
straining every nerve, and outraging common sense, to be thought
genteel; the others have no other object or idea in their heads than not
to be thought vulgar. This is but poor spite; a very pitiful style of
ambition. To be merely not that which one heartily despises, is a very
humble claim to superiority; to despise what one really is, is still
worse.
"Gentility is only a more select and artificial kind of vulgarity. It
cannot exist but by a sort of borrowed distinction. It plumes itself up
and revels in the homely pretensions of the mass of mankind. It judges
of the worth of everything by name, fashion, opinion; and hence, from
the conscious absence of real qualities or sincere satisfaction in
itself, it builds its supercilious and fantastic conceit on the
wretchedness and wants of others. Violent antipathies are always
suspicious, and betray a secret affinity. The difference between the
'Great Vulgar and the Small' is mostly in outward circumstances. The
coxcomb criticises the dress of the clown, as the pedant cavils at the
bad grammar of the illiterate. Those who have the fewest resources in
themselves, naturally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. The
most ignorant people find most to laugh at in strangers; scandal and
satire prevail most in country-places; and a propensity to ridicule
every the slightest or most palpable deviation from what we happen to
approve, ceases with the progress of common sense. True worth does not
exult in the faults and deficiencies of others; as true refinement turns
away from grossness and deformity instead of being tempted to indulge in
an unmanly triumph over it. Raphael would not faint away at the daubing
of a sign painter, nor Homer hold his head the higher for being in the
company of the poorest scribbler that ever attempted poetry. Real power,
real excellence, does not seek for a foil in inferiority, nor fear
contamination from coming in contact with that which is coarse and
homely. It reposes on itself, and is equally free from spleen and
affectation. But the spirit of both these small vices is in _gentility_
as the word stands in vulgar minds: of affected delight in its own
would-be qualifications, and of ineffable disdain poured out upon the
involuntary blunders or accidental disadvantages of those whom it
chooses to treat as inferiors.
"The essence of vulgarity, I imagine, consists in taking manners,
actions, words, opinions on trust from others, without examining one's
own feelings or weighing the merits of the case. It is coarseness or
shallowness of taste arising from want of individual refinement,
together with the confidence and presumption inspired by example and
numbers. It may be defined to be a prostitution of the mind or body to
ape the more or less obvious defects of others, because by so doing we
shall secure the suffrages of those we associate with. To affect a
gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it is the rage with a large
number of persons, or to hold it in abhorrence because another set of
persons very little, if at all, better informed, cry it down to
distinguish themselves from the former, is in either case equal
vulgarity and absurdity. A thing is not vulgar merely because it is
common. 'Tis common to breathe, to see, to feel, to live. Nothing is
vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, unavoidable. Grossness is not
vulgarity, ignorance is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity; but
all these become vulgar when they are affected, and shown off on the
authority of others, or to fall in with _the fashion_ or the company we
keep. Caliban is coarse enough, but surely he is not vulgar. We might as
well spurn the clod under our feet, and call it vulgar.
"All slang phrases are vulgar; but there is nothing vulgar in the common
English idiom. Simplicity is not vulgarity; but the looking to
affectation of any sort for distinction is."
To sum up, it may be said, that if you wish to possess the good opinion
of your fellow men, the way to secure it is, to be actually what you
pretend to be, or rather to appear always precisely what you are. Never
depart from the native dignity of your character, which you can only
maintain irreproachable by being careful not to imitate the vices, or
adopt the follies of others. The best way in all cases you will find to
be, to adhere to truth, and to abide by the talents and appliances which
have been bestowed upon you by Providence.