




ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING

by Mark Twain [Sameul Clemens]




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.



Observe, 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
criticise 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 shed 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. 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 pretence 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. Now their pretence of wanting to see the
fourteen--and the other