The Foundations of Personality [122]
whether theological, scientific, social or personal, the ego-feeling enters in its narrowest and blindest aspects to defeat honor, justice and truth.
All this is normal lying,--not habitual but occurring under certain circumstances. As clearly motivated is the lying of the braggart, the one who invents stories that emphasize his exceptional qualities. The braggart however is a mere novice as compared with the "pathological liar," who does not seem able to tell the truth, who invents continually and who will often deceive a whole group before he is found out. The motive here is that curious type of superiority seeking which is the desire to be piteously interesting, to hold the center of the stage by virtue of adverse adventures or misfortunes. Hence the wild white-slave yarns and the "orphan child" who has been abused. Every police department knows these girls and boys, as does every social service agency. I am afraid we all yield to the desire to be interesting or to make artistic our adventures. To tell of what happens to us, of what we have seen or said or done exactly as it was, is difficult, not only because of faulty memory, but because we like to make the tale more like a story, because, let us say, of the artist in us. Life is so incomplete and unfinished! We so rarely retort as we should have! And a bald recital of most events is not interesting and so,--the proportions are altered, humor is introduced, the conversation becomes more witty, especially our share, and the adventure is made a little more thrilling. And each who tells of it adds little or much, and in the end what is told never happened. "The Devil is the father of lies," runs the old proverb. If so, we have all given birth to some of his children. Though direct lying is held to be harmful and socially disastrous, and evidence of either fear and cowardice or malevolence, the essential honesty of people is usually summed up in the term sincerity. The advance of civilization is marked by the appearance of toleration, the recognition that belief is a private right, especially as concerns religion, and that sincerity in belief is more important than the nature of belief. What is really implied by sincerity is the absence of camouflage or disguise, so that it becomes possible to know what a man believes and thinks by his words and his acts. As a matter of fact, that ideal is neither realized nor desirable, and it is as wise and natural to inhibit the expression of our beliefs and feelings as it is to inhibit our actions. To be frank with a man, to tell him sincerely that we believe he is a scoundrel, and that we hate him and to show this feeling by act, would be to plunge the world into barbarism. We must disguise hate, and there are times when we must disguise love. Sincerity is at the best only relative; we ought to be sincere about love, religion and the validity of our purposes, but in the little relationships sincerity must be replaced by caution, courtesy and the needs of efficiency. In reality we ask for sincerity only in what is pleasant to us; the sincere whose frankness and honesty offend we call boors. Sincere self-revelation, if well done, is one of the most esteemed forms of literary production. Montaigne's preface to his "Essays" is a promise that he lived up to in the sincerity and frankness of his self and other analysis. "Pepy's Diary" charms because the naked soul of an Englishman of the seventeenth century is laid before us, with its trivialities, lusts, repentance and aspirations. In the latter nineteenth century, Mary MacLane's diary had an extraordinary vogue because of the apparent sincerity of the eager original nature there revealed. We love young children because their selfishness, their curiosity, their "real" nature, is shown to us in their every word and act. In their presence we are relaxed, off our guard and not forced to that eternal hiding and studying that the society of our equals imposes on us. We all long for sincerity, but the too sincere are treated much as the skeptic of Bjoriasen's tale, who was killed by his friends.
All this is normal lying,--not habitual but occurring under certain circumstances. As clearly motivated is the lying of the braggart, the one who invents stories that emphasize his exceptional qualities. The braggart however is a mere novice as compared with the "pathological liar," who does not seem able to tell the truth, who invents continually and who will often deceive a whole group before he is found out. The motive here is that curious type of superiority seeking which is the desire to be piteously interesting, to hold the center of the stage by virtue of adverse adventures or misfortunes. Hence the wild white-slave yarns and the "orphan child" who has been abused. Every police department knows these girls and boys, as does every social service agency. I am afraid we all yield to the desire to be interesting or to make artistic our adventures. To tell of what happens to us, of what we have seen or said or done exactly as it was, is difficult, not only because of faulty memory, but because we like to make the tale more like a story, because, let us say, of the artist in us. Life is so incomplete and unfinished! We so rarely retort as we should have! And a bald recital of most events is not interesting and so,--the proportions are altered, humor is introduced, the conversation becomes more witty, especially our share, and the adventure is made a little more thrilling. And each who tells of it adds little or much, and in the end what is told never happened. "The Devil is the father of lies," runs the old proverb. If so, we have all given birth to some of his children. Though direct lying is held to be harmful and socially disastrous, and evidence of either fear and cowardice or malevolence, the essential honesty of people is usually summed up in the term sincerity. The advance of civilization is marked by the appearance of toleration, the recognition that belief is a private right, especially as concerns religion, and that sincerity in belief is more important than the nature of belief. What is really implied by sincerity is the absence of camouflage or disguise, so that it becomes possible to know what a man believes and thinks by his words and his acts. As a matter of fact, that ideal is neither realized nor desirable, and it is as wise and natural to inhibit the expression of our beliefs and feelings as it is to inhibit our actions. To be frank with a man, to tell him sincerely that we believe he is a scoundrel, and that we hate him and to show this feeling by act, would be to plunge the world into barbarism. We must disguise hate, and there are times when we must disguise love. Sincerity is at the best only relative; we ought to be sincere about love, religion and the validity of our purposes, but in the little relationships sincerity must be replaced by caution, courtesy and the needs of efficiency. In reality we ask for sincerity only in what is pleasant to us; the sincere whose frankness and honesty offend we call boors. Sincere self-revelation, if well done, is one of the most esteemed forms of literary production. Montaigne's preface to his "Essays" is a promise that he lived up to in the sincerity and frankness of his self and other analysis. "Pepy's Diary" charms because the naked soul of an Englishman of the seventeenth century is laid before us, with its trivialities, lusts, repentance and aspirations. In the latter nineteenth century, Mary MacLane's diary had an extraordinary vogue because of the apparent sincerity of the eager original nature there revealed. We love young children because their selfishness, their curiosity, their "real" nature, is shown to us in their every word and act. In their presence we are relaxed, off our guard and not forced to that eternal hiding and studying that the society of our equals imposes on us. We all long for sincerity, but the too sincere are treated much as the skeptic of Bjoriasen's tale, who was killed by his friends.