Talkers: With Illustrations

XXI.

THE ASSENTER

This is a talker of a very accommodating kind. He is pliable as an elastic bow. He takes any shape in sentiment or opinion you please to give him, with most obliging disposition. As you think, so he thinks; as you say, so he says. If you deny, he denies; if you affirm, he affirms. He is no wrangler or disputant, no dogmatist or snubber. You may always rely upon having a hearing from him, whatever you say. And observe this, what he is to you, so he is to others, however averse they may be in sentiment to yourself. He is very much of a weathercock-make in his intellect. It seems to be fixed on a pivot, and from whichever point of the compass the wind blows in the talking world he veers round to that quarter. His pet expressions are, “Yes, truly;” “Just so;” “I believe that;” “Nothing is truer;” “That is what I have said many a time,” etc. I am not, however, disposed to think that this vacillation is owing to moral weakness so much as to want of mental calibre in independent and manly exercise.

In some it is a habit formed as the result of a desire to stand on friendly terms with everybody they hold conversation.

“It is a very fine morning, Mr. Long,” said Mr. Oakes, as he met him one day in Bond Street.

“Very fine, indeed,” said Mr. Long.

“I think we are going to have settled weather now after such a succession of storms.”

“O, yes, I think so, Mr. Oakes.”

“Did you mind that picture of Wellington as you came by Brown’s shop. Is it not fine? Did you ever see a better likeness of the glorious hero of Waterloo than that? Is it not grand?”

“It is indeed grand. I never saw anything like it. I think with you, Mr. Oakes.”

“That is a magnificent building, Mr. Long, which is in course of erection in Adelaide Street. It will be an honour to the architect, the proprietor, and the city.”

“It is indeed a magnificent building, and it will do honour to the architect, the proprietor, and the city,” replied Mr. Long.

“Did you hear Mr. Bowles lecture the other night? Was it not a grand piece of eloquence, of originality, and of literary power? I think that it was super-excellent.”

“Just so, Mr. Oakes. It was, as you say, super-excellent; that is the exact idea. It was everything you describe. I fully concur in your remarks.”

“But I did not think much of the man that supplied our pulpit on Sunday morning. He was too long, too loose, and too loud; a very poor substitute for our beloved pastor.”

“Those are exactly my views upon that subject,” responded Long.

“My opinion is that the probability of the restoration of Popery in this country was never so strong as now, and unless something be done to interpose, it will become more probable still.”

“Just so, Mr. Oates. My opinion is precisely the same as yours upon that point. We agree exactly.”

“I think Mr. Gladstone’s pamphlet on the Vatican Decrees is likely to produce a reactionary effect upon the patronage of the Romanists in his future support as the Liberal leader.”

“That is what I think too, Mr. Oakes. It is very likely, as you say, to be so. Your mind and mine agree upon that particular also.”

“I have a strong impression that the Public Worship Act will have little effect in arresting the progress of Ritualism, because of the apathy of the Bishops.”

“That is just my impression, Mr. Oakes.”

“Do you not think, Mr. Long, that the scepticism of the age is very subtle, powerful, and dangerous?”

“Yes, truly, Mr. Oakes, I do indeed think that the scepticism of the age is all you say it is.”

“I did not say it was so; you mistook my question for a statement, Mr. Long.”

With some little tremor, as though he had given offence, Mr. Long said, “Oh dear no; you did not say so: I have made a mistake; do pardon me, Mr. Oakes.”

“That notion of George Eliot, taught in the following lines, is full of atheistic teaching, and likely to be mischievous in its influence. Speaking of his wish to have an immortality, his notion of it is only that of living in the minds of others in subsequent ages: —

His notion of a heaven, you see, is limited to a life of immortality among the dead, who live in others made better by them – a posthumous influence for good is his only heaven.”

“Yes, I see, Mr. Oakes,” answered Long. “Just so: I believe all you say. You have expressed what I think about the atheistic theory of George Eliot.”

It was in this way that Mr. Long assented to Mr. Oakes in everything he said. They separated, and each went on his way. As Mr. Long walked down the street, who should meet him but Mr. Stearns? and he began his conversation somewhat in the same order as Mr. Oakes, only he happened to take in almost every particular an opposite view. But this was of no consequence to Mr. Long. Both Mr. Oakes and Mr. Stearns were his intimate friends, though not friends of each other, and he did not wish to disagree with either, so he assented to everything Stearns said with as much readiness and affability as he did to what Oakes said.

The above is a brief specimen of the assenter in conversation. His fault shows itself to every observer; and if it is not a moral fault, it certainly is an intellectual one. Every man in conversation ought to have a mind of his own for free and independent thought; and while he does not dogmatically and doggedly bring it into contact with others, he should avoid making it the tool of another man’s. He should not throw it, as clay, into everybody’s mental mould which comes in his way, to receive any shape which may be given to it. This is softness which a healthful state of any mind does not justify – which the natural intellectual rights of man condemn. It is a pliability of mind which no honourable man requires in conversation, and which he does not approve. It is mental stultification. It confines the action of mind to one party, and limits the circle of conversation to the compass which that mind pleases to give it. The proper contact of mind in conversation is mutual stimulus to action. Friction produces fire, and when there are wise hands to supply suitable material on both sides, a genial glowing heat is the result, which thaws out the frigidness that otherwise might exist. Each one warms himself at the other’s fire; all who listen feel the influence, and lasting are the benefits which flow from such conversation.

XXII.

THE LIAR

“A false witness shall not be unpunished; and he that speaketh lies shall not escape.”

This is a talker who voluntarily speaks untruth with an intention to deceive. He is a painter, giving to subjects colours and views that he knows are false to the original, but which he means to be understood as true by the spectators. He is a dramatist, making representations which do not belong to the characters in the drama, and thereby imposing upon the credulity of the beholders. He is a legerdemain, showing black to be white, and white to be black, and red to be no colour – a factor, producing works which he vends as real, when he knows them to be shams – a witness, bearing testimony to things which have no existence – a tradesman, carrying on business in a fictitious name and with an imaginary capital.

This talker may be met with in a variety of aspects and relations: in the shop, telling his customer that his goods are the best in town, and cheapest in price, when he knows that they are far from being either one or the other; in the market, declaring that the fruit is fresh gathered and fish just arrived, when he knows that both are on the eve of decay and rottenness from long keeping; in the manufactory, stating that the article is pure and unadulterated, when he knows that one half or three parts are impure and corrupt. “You shall have it at cost price,” when perhaps the price is ten or twenty per cent. above it. “Selling at twenty-five below cost,” when the proprietor knows he will make a large profit. “They are salvage goods,” or they are “damaged goods from a great fire in Manchester or Edinburgh,” when they are old things which have been damaged in the owner’s own warehouse or cellar. “William, if Mr. Cash calls to inquire if I am at home, tell him I am gone out for the day,” said Mr. Brush to his servant, while he was the whole day engaged in some pet diversion in the bagatelle-room. “You shall most certainly have your new coat by Thursday evening,” says the tailor to Mr. Shaw, upon which promise he makes a special engagement to meet company. Thursday evening comes, and Mr. Shaw finds the promise unfulfilled by the tailor, who knew at the time he should not do as he said. “O, yes, I will meet you at four o’clock on Monday at Mr. Nuncio’s,” when he knew that he was purposing to go in quite an opposite direction at that very hour. “I certainly cannot pay your bill to-day: call on Friday, and I will pay you,” when he knows he has the money on hand, and that when you call on Friday he will not pay you.

There are yet three more aspects in which this talker appears before society – as jocular, as officious, as pernicious. As Jocular, he talks with a view to amuse and create merriment by telling stories of his own invention, or what he has heard others repeat, and which he knows not to be true. As Officious, he talks with a view, as he says, to benefit others. He may do it as a parent to benefit his children; or as a husband to benefit his wife; or as an officer in Church or State to benefit those who are subject to him. He thinks the end justifies the means, and he can do evil that good may come. But this is an egregious mistake; for the Divine injunction is that we must not do evil that good may come. “And therefore,” says Bishop Hopkins, “although thine own life or thy neighbour’s depends upon it; yea, put the case it were not only to save his life, but to save his soul, couldest thou by this means most eminently advance the glory of God, or the general good and welfare of the Church, yet thou oughtest not to tell the least lie to promote these great and blessed ends.” As Pernicious, he talks things that are false with a view to injure his neighbour, or any one towards whom he has an evil feeling. It is immaterial to him what the invention is, so that it will answer his malicious design. He can create rumours by wholesale, and dispense them to all who will degrade themselves by accepting them. Aspersions, detractions, slanders, defamations, and calumnies he can conjure in his mind and pour out of his lips without the shadow of a justification. And as there are always persons with ready minds to receive whatever is said to the injury of others, and to circulate it as truth, the liar often succeeds in the accomplishment of his evil purpose. I will give briefly the traits of his character.

1. He is a child of the devil.– “Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it” (John viii. 44). The liar, then, is a legitimate son of this lying father. He speaks as he is inspired by that black spirit of perdition. “Thou never liest,” says Bishop Hopkins, “but thou speakest aloud what the devil whispered softly to thee; the Old Serpent lies folded round in thy heart, and we may hear him hissing in thy voice. And therefore, when God summoned all His heavenly attendants about Him, and demanded who would persuade Ahab to go up and fall at Ramoth-Gilead, an evil spirit that had crowded in amongst them steps forth and undertakes the office as his most natural employment, and that wherein he most of all delighted. ‘I will go forth and be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets’ (I Kings xxii. 22). Every lie thou tellest, consider that the devil sits upon thy tongue, breathes falsehood into thy heart, and forms thy words and accents into deceit.”

2. He acts contrary to the Divine mind and nature.– God is truth and in Him is no falsehood at all. What He hath said He will do; what He hath promised He will fulfil. All His thoughts are according to the perfect reality of things; and all His words are in exact accord with His thoughts. Hence the sin of lying is contrary to His very nature, and an abomination in His sight. “These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto Him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among his brethren” (Prov. vi. 16-19). “Lying lips are abomination to the Lord: but they that deal truly are His delight” (Prov. xii. 22).

3. He gives indubitable evidence of a depraved nature.– He is the opposite in nature to a child of “our Father which is in heaven.” “Surely,” says the Lord of His children, “they are My people; children that will not lie: so He became their Saviour” (Isa. lxiii. 8). On the contrary, it is affirmed of the wicked that they “are estranged from the womb; they go astray as soon as they are born, speaking lies” (Ps. lviii. 3). Again it is said, “Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully. Thou lovest evil more than good, and lying rather than to speak righteousness” (Ps. lii. 2, 3). The wicked “delight in lies; they bless with their mouth, but they curse inwardly” (Ps. lxii. 4). Again it is said, “Behold, he travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood” (Ps. vii. 14). Jeremiah’s description of his people answers to the character of the liar in our day. “They bend their tongues like their bow for lies; but they are not valiant for the truth upon the earth, for they proceed from evil to evil, and they know not Me, saith the Lord.” “They will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth; they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity” (Jer. ix. 3, 5).

4. He is generally a coward in respect to men, and a contemner of God.– “To say a man lieth,” says Montaigne, “is to say that he is audacious towards God, and a coward towards men.” “Whosoever lies,” observes Hopkins, “doth it out of a base and sordid fear lest some evil and inconvenience should come unto him by declaring the truth.” “A liar,” remarks Bacon, “is brave towards God and a coward towards man. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man.” “The meanness of lying,” says Gilpin, “arises from the cowardice which it implies. We dare not boldly and nobly speak the truth, but have recourse to low subterfuges, which always show a sordid and disingenuous mind. Hence it is that in the fashionable world the word liar is always considered as a term of peculiar reproach.”