On the Decay of the Art of Lying Essay — page 1

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

Written by Mark Twain

Narrated by Michael Scott

Produced by ThoughtAudio.com

—

Adaptation by Garcia Mann

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rTA0016

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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ESSAY, FOR DISCUSSION, READ AT A MEETING OF THE

HISTORICAL AND ANTIQUARIAN CLUB OF HARTFORD,

AND OFFERED FOR THE THIRTY-DOLLAR PRIZE [*]



[*] Did not take the prize

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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bserve, I do not mean to suggest that the custom of lying has suffered any

decay or interruption — no, for the Lie, as a Virtue, A Principle, is eternal; the

Lie, as a recreation, a solace, a refuge in time of need, the fourth Grace, the

tenth Muse, man's best and surest friend, is immortal, and cannot perish from the earth

while this club remains. My complaint simply concerns the decay of the art of lying. No

high-minded man, no man of right feeling, can contemplate the lumbering and slovenly

lying of the present day without grieving to see a noble art so prostituted. In this veteran

presence I naturally enter upon this theme with diffidence; it is like an old maid trying to

teach nursery matters to the mothers in Israel.

It would not become to me to criticize you, gentlemen — who are nearly all my elders —

and my superiors, in this thing — if I should here and there seem to do it, I trust it will

in most cases be more in a spirit of admiration than fault-finding; indeed if this finest of

the fine arts had everywhere received the attention, the encouragement, and conscientious

practice and development which this club has devoted to it, I should not need to utter this

lament, or shred a single tear. I do not say this to flatter: I say it in a spirit of just and

appreciative recognition.

[It had been my intention, at this point, to mention names and to

give illustrative specimens, but indications observable about me

admonished me to beware of the particulars and confine myself to

generalities.]

No fact is more firmly established than that lying is a necessity of our circumstances —

the deduction that it is then a Virtue goes without saying. No virtue can reach its highest

usefulness without careful and diligent cultivation — therefore, it goes without saying

that this one ought to be taught in the public schools — even in the newspapers.

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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What chance has the ignorant uncultivated liar against the educated expert? What chance

have I against Mr. Per — against a lawyer? Judicious lying is what the world needs. I

sometimes think it were even better and safer not to lie at all than to lie injudiciously. An

awkward, unscientific lie is often as ineffectual as the truth.

Now let us see what the philosophers say. Note that venerable proverb: Children and

fools always speak the truth. The deduction is plain — adults and wise persons never

speak it. Parkman, the historian, says, "The principle of truth may itself be carried into an

absurdity." In another place in the same chapters he says, "The saying is old that truth

should not be spoken at all times; and those whom a sick conscience worries into habitual

violation of the maxim are imbeciles and nuisances." It is strong language, but true. None

of us could live with an habitual truth-teller; but thank goodness none of us has to. An

habitual truth-teller is simply an impossible creature; he does not exist; he never has

existed. Of course there are people who think they never lie, but it is not so — and this

ignorance is one of the very things that shame our so-called civilization. Everybody lies

— every day; every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning; if he

keeps his tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his attitude, will convey deception —

and purposely.

Even in sermons — but that is a platitude. In a far country where I once lived the ladies

used to go around paying calls, under the humane and kindly pretense of wanting to see

each other; and when they returned home, they would cry out with a glad voice, saying,

"We made sixteen calls and found fourteen of them out” — not meaning that they found

out anything important against the fourteen — no, that was only a colloquial phrase to

signify that they were not at home — and their manner of saying it expressed their lively

satisfaction in that fact.

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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Now their pretense of wanting to see the fourteen — and the other two whom they had

been less lucky with — was that commonest and mildest form of lying which is

sufficiently described as a deflection from the truth. Is it justifiable?

Most certainly. It is beautiful, it is noble; for its object is, not to reap profit, but to

convey a pleasure to the sixteen. The iron-souled truth-monger would plainly manifest, or

even utter the fact that he didn't want to see those people — and he would be an ass, and

inflict totally unnecessary pain. And next, those ladies in that far country — but never

mind, they had a thousand pleasant ways of lying, that grew out of gentle impulses, and

were a credit to their intelligence and an honor to their hearts. Let the particulars go. The

men in that far country were liars, every one. Their mere howdy-do was a lie, because

they didn't care how you did, except they were undertakers. To the ordinary inquirer you

lied in return; for you made no conscientious diagnostic of your case, but answered at

random, and usually missed it considerably. You lied to the undertaker, and said your

health was failing — a wholly commendable lie, since it cost you nothing and pleased the

other man.

If a stranger called and interrupted you, you said with your hearty tongue, "I'm glad to see

you," and said with your heartier soul, "I wish you were with the cannibals and it was

dinner-time." When he went, you said regretfully, "Must you go?" and followed it with

a "Call again;" but you did no harm, for you did not deceive anybody nor inflict any hurt,

whereas the truth would have made you both unhappy. I think that all this courteous lying

is a sweet and loving art, and should be cultivated. The highest perfection of politeness is

only a beautiful edifice, built, from the base to the dome, of graceful and gilded forms of

charitable and unselfish lying.

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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What I bemoan is the growing prevalence of the brutal truth. Let us do what we can to

eradicate it. An injurious truth has no merit over an injurious lie. Neither should ever be

uttered. The man who speaks an injurious truth lest his soul be not saved if he do

otherwise, should reflect that that sort of a soul is not strictly worth saving. The man who

tells a lie to help a poor devil out of trouble, is one of whom the angels doubtless say,

"Lo, here is an heroic soul who casts his own welfare in jeopardy to succor his

neighbor's; let us exalt this magnanimous liar.” An injurious lie is an uncommendable

thing; and so, also, and in the same degree, is an injurious truth — a fact that is

recognized by the law of libel.

Among other common lies, we have the silent lie — the deception which one conveys

by simply keeping still and concealing the truth. Many obstinate truth-mongers indulge in

this dissipation, imagining that if they speak no lie, they lie not at all. In that far country

where I once lived, there was a lovely spirit, a lady whose impulses were always high and

pure, and whose character answered to them. One day I was there at dinner, and

remarked, in a general way, that we are all liars.

She was amazed, and said, "Not all?"

It was before "Pinafore's" time so I did not make the response, which would naturally

follow in our day, but frankly said, "Yes, all — we are all liars. There are no

exceptions."

She looked almost offended, "Why, do you include me?"

"Certainly," I said. "I think you even rank as an expert."

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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She said "Sh-'sh! the children!"

So the subject was changed in deference to the children's presence, and we went on

talking about other things.

But as soon as the young people were out of the way, the lady came warmly back to the

matter and said, "I have made a rule of my life to never tell a lie; and I have never

departed from it in a single instance."

I said, "I don't mean the least harm or disrespect, but really you have been lying like

smoke ever since I've been sitting here. It has caused me a good deal of pain, because I'm

not used to it."

She required of me an instance — just a single instance.

So I said, “Well, here is the unfilled duplicate of the blank, which the Oakland hospital

people sent to you by the hand of the sick-nurse when she came here to nurse your little

nephew through his dangerous illness. This blank asks all manners of questions as to the

conduct of that sick-nurse: 'Did she ever sleep on her watch? Did she ever forget to give

the medicine?' and so forth and so on. You are warned to be very careful and explicit in

your answers, for the welfare of the service requires that the nurses be promptly fined or

otherwise punished for derelictions. You told me you were perfectly delighted with this

nurse — that she had a thousand perfections and only one fault: you found you never

could depend on her wrapping Johnny up half sufficiently while he waited in a chilly

chair for her to rearrange the warm bed. You filled up the duplicate of this paper, and sent

it back to the hospital by the hand of the nurse. How did you answer this question —

'Was the nurse at any time guilty of a negligence which was likely to result in the

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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patient's taking cold?' Come — everything is decided by a bet here in California: ten

dollars to ten cents you lied when you answered that question."

She said, "I didn't; I left it blank!”

"Just so — you have told a silent lie; you have left it to be inferred that you had no fault

to find in that matter.”

She said, "Oh, was that a lie? And how could I mention her one single fault, and she is so

good? — It would have been cruel."

I said, "One ought always to lie, when one can do good by it; your impulse was right, but

your judgment was crude; this comes of unintelligent practice. Now observe the results of

this inexpert deflection of yours. You know Mr. Jones's Willie is lying very low with

scarlet-fever; well, your recommendation was so enthusiastic that that girl is there

nursing him, and the worn-out family have all been trustingly sound asleep for the last

fourteen hours, leaving their darling with full confidence in those fatal hands, because

you, like young George Washington, have a reputa — However, if you are not going to

have anything to do, I will come around tomorrow and we'll attend the funeral together,

for, of course, you'll naturally feel a peculiar interest in Willie's case — as personal a one,

in fact, as the undertaker.”

But that was not all lost. Before I was half-way through she was in a carriage and making

thirty miles an hour toward the Jones mansion to save what was left of Willie and tell all

she knew about the deadly nurse. All of which was unnecessary, as Willie wasn't sick; I

had been lying myself. But that same day, all the same, she sent a line to the hospital

which filled up the neglected blank, and stated the facts, too, in the squarest possible

manner.

ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

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Now, you see, this lady's fault was not in lying, but in lying injudiciously. She should

have told the truth, there, and made it up to the nurse with a fraudulent compliment

further along in the paper. She could have said, "In one respect this sick-nurse is

perfection — when she is on the watch, she never snores."

Almost any little pleasant lie would have taken the sting out of that troublesome but

necessary expression of the truth. Lying is universal — we all do it. Therefore, the

wise thing is for us diligently to train ourselves to lie thoughtfully, judiciously; to lie with

a good object, and not an evil one; to lie for others' advantage, and not our own; to lie

healingly, charitably, humanely, not cruelly, hurtfully, maliciously; to lie gracefully and

graciously, not awkwardly and clumsily; to lie firmly, frankly, squarely, with head erect,

not haltingly, tortuously, with pusillanimous mien, as being ashamed of our high calling.

Then shall we be rid of the rank and pestilent truth that is rotting the land; then shall we

be great and good and beautiful, and worthy dwellers in a world where even benign

Nature habitually lies, except when she promises execrable weather. Then — But am I

but a new and feeble student in this gracious art; I cannot instruct this club. Joking

aside, I think there is much need of wise examination into what sorts of lies are best and

wholesomest to be indulged, seeing we must all lie and we do all lie, and what sorts it

may be best to avoid — and this is a thing which I feel I can confidently put into the

hands of this experienced Club — a ripe body, who may be termed, in this regard, and

without undue flattery, Old Masters.

THE END

On the Decay of the Art of Lying Essay

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