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 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. 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 h
as 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 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.
sort out ofAnd 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 oth
er man.

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