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.
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.” 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.