GEXIUS AND YAJS T ITY 



215 



call vanity a virtue, or at lowest a desirable qual- 

 ity ? Listen to the ordinary moralizing of the 

 pulpit and the moral essayist, and we, of course, 

 must condemn vanity, as on the same showing 

 we condemn many of the most essential qualities 

 by which the world is carried on. There is a 

 sense — nobody denies it — in which these com- 

 monplaces have a sound, if a rather obvious, 

 meaning. But all maxims that have been much 

 used by preachers — lay or clerical — become so 

 strained and perverted in the process that, like 

 worn-out muskets, they are apt to produce very 

 random shooting. "Who that has looked at the 

 world for himself can deny that vanity may be 

 reckoned among the most enviable of possessions ? 

 It deserves, even more than the original object 

 of the panegyric, the praise which Sancho be- 

 stowed upon sleep. Vanity does indeed wrap a 

 man up like a cloak. It bestows its blessings 

 freely upon the poet striving against general mis- 

 appreciation ; it enables the poor loser in the 

 great battle of life to make himself happy with 

 some trifling success ; it softens the bitter pangs 

 of disappointment and gives fresh strength for 

 new struggles ; it prevents resentment and facili- 

 t ites the intercourse of society ; it can make any 

 man contented with his lot, and lets the poor 

 drudge in the kitchen think without envy of the 

 statesman in the parlor. Who would not be 

 tempted to frequent irritation if he could enjoy 

 that gift for which the poet so foolishly prayed, 

 the gift of seeing himself as others saw him, and 

 recognize his infinitesimal importance in the eyes 

 of his fellows '? It is because of the tender illu- 

 sions of vanity that a man can accept the petty 

 sphere of his own activity for the wider circle of 

 the world, and shut out the annihilating image 

 of the vast forces beyond. It is the safeguard 

 against a depressing fatalism. Vanity has as 

 many virtues as the vaunted panaceas of medical 

 quackery ; and, were it not for that softening oil, 

 the wheels of life would grate harsh music too 

 discordant for mortal ears. 



Yet in singing the praises of vanity we be- 

 come aware of a certain vagueness of outline 

 about this Protean goddess. She can take many 

 shapes ; and changes so rapidly and completely 

 that we are unable to fix any definite portrait 

 upon our canvas. Sometimes there is a scowl 

 upon her features, and sometimes a complacent 

 smile. She can pass herself off in the likeness 

 of her conventional opposite, humility, or ape the 

 gestures of pride, or be undistinguishable from 

 mere sullen egotism. All our definitions of the 

 passions have this provoking vagueness, because, 



in truth, we do not know what are the ultimate 

 elements of character. We cannot find chemical 

 formulae for human nature, or say how many 

 atoms of spiritual oxygen or hydrogen must be 

 combined to form a defiuite product. Our efforts 

 at analysis break down at every instant. Every 

 new light thrown by new circumstances brings 

 out previously unsuspected aspects of bewilder- 

 ing complexity. Every new character seems to 

 require a new category for its description. There 

 seem to be as many species of men as there are 

 individuals. Our complacent little formulae may 

 guide our conduct with tolerable accuracy ; but, 

 when we confront theory with the infinite variety 

 of facts, we recognize the futility of any claim to 

 scientific accuracy. We class men as good or 

 bad, humble or vain ; and when looking at excep- 

 tional cases, or dealing only with large classes 

 and average results, our words have a kind of 

 meaning. The saint and the sinner, St. John 

 and Judas Iscariot, may be distinguished easilv 

 enough. But between the extremes we may in- 

 terpose any number of terms, varying so strange- 

 ly, in so many directions, and combining so many 

 apparent contradictions, that our lines of demar- 

 kation become hopelessly blurred and confused. 

 Our compartments may be most logically subdi- 

 vided, but no real being will quite fit into any 

 one of them. The inferior classes multiply on 

 our lands ; they cross, blend, overlap, and confuse 

 each other till we admit them to be useless. We 

 can seldom apply a rule to a dozen cases without 

 finding twelve exceptions. The qualifications to 

 our statements become so numerous that the 

 statements are practically worthless. The poet 

 can create characters ; the man of science can- 

 not define them or assign their composition. 



Thus the condemnation of vanity collapses 

 when we try to answer the plain question, What 

 is vanity ? Try to define accurately the various 

 cognate terms, vanity, conceit, pride, egotism, 

 and their numerous allies, to mark out accuratelv 

 their points' of resemblance and contrast, and 

 then test your conclusions by appropriate exam- 

 ples. Take a few cases at random. Here is 

 Miss Martineau, for example, who says in her au- 

 tobiography that all the distinguished men of her 

 time were vain — and she does not add that the 

 limits of time or sex are a necessary part of the 

 assertion. But was she not vain herself? No, 

 for she formed a singularly modest and sound 

 estimate of her own abilities. But again, yes, 

 for she certainly seems to have considered that 

 to one person at least Miss Martineau was incom- 

 parably the most interesting person in the uni- 



