MAKE-BELIEVE
The text may be found in "Over Bemerton's," by E. V. Lucas, and reads
as follows: "A gentle hypocrisy is not only the basis but the salt of
civilized life." This statement startled me a bit at first; but when
I got to thinking of my experience in having a photograph of myself
made I saw that Mr. Lucas has some warrant for his statement. There
has been only one Oliver Cromwell to say: "Paint me as I am." The
rest of us humans prefer to have the wart omitted. If my photograph
is true to life I don't want it. I'm going to send it away, and I
don't want the folks who get it to think I look like that. If I were
a woman and could wear a disguise of cosmetics when sitting for a
picture the case might not be quite so bad. The subtle flattery of
the photograph is very grateful to us mortals whether we admit it or
not. My friend Baxter introduced me once as a man who is not
two-faced, and went on to explain that if I had had two faces I'd
have brought the other instead of this one. And that's true. I
expect the photographer to evoke another face for me, and hence my
generous gift of money to him. I like that chap immensely. He takes
my money, gives me another face, bows me out with the grace of a
finished courtier, and never, by word or look, reveals his knowledge
of my hypocrisy.
As a boy I had a full suit of company manners which I wore only when
guests were present, and so was always sorry to have guests come. I
sat back on the chair instead of on its edge; I didn't swing my legs
unless I had a lapse of memory; I said, "Yes, ma'am," and, "No,
ma'am," like any other parrot, just as I did at rehearsal; and, in
short, I was a most exemplary child save for occasional reactions to
unlooked-for situations. The folks knew I was posing, and were on
nettles all the while from fear of a breakdown; the guests knew I was
posing, and I knew I was posing. But we all pretended to one another
that that was the regular order of procedure in our house. So we had
a very gratifying concert exercise in hypocrisy. We said our prayers
that night just as usual.
With such thorough training in my youth it is not at all strange that
I now consider myself rather an adept in the prevailing social
usages. At a musicale I applaud fit to blister my hands, even though
I feel positively pugnacious. But I know the singer has an encore
prepared, and I feel that it would be ungracious to disappoint her.
Besides, I argue with myself that I can stand it for five minutes
more if the others can. Professor James, I think it is, says that we
ought to do at least one disagreeable thing each day as an aid in the
development of character. Being rather keen on character
development, I decide on a double dose of the disagreeable while
opportunity favors. Hence my vigorous applauding. Then, too, I
realize that the time and place are not opportune for an expression
of my honest convictions; so I choose the line of least resistance
and well-nigh blister my hands to emphasize my hypocrisy.
At a formal dinner I have been known to sink so low into the depths
of hypocrisy as to eat shrimp salad. But when one is sitting next to
a lady who seems a confirmed celibate, and who seems to find nothing
better than to become voluble on the subject of her distinguished
ancestors, even shrimp salad has its uses. Now, under normal
conditions my perverted and plebeian taste regards shrimp salad as a
banality, but at that dinner I ate it with apparent relish, and tried
not to make a wry face. But, worst of all, I complimented the
hostess upon the excellence of the dinner, and extolled the salad
particularly, although we both knew that the salad was a failure, and
that the dinner itself convicted the cook of a lack of experience or
else of a superfluity of potations.
When the refreshments are served I take a thimbleful of ice-cream and
an attenuated wafer, and then solemnly declare to the maid that I
have been abundantly served. In the hallowed precincts that I call
my den I could absorb nine rations such as they served and never bat
an eye. And yet, in making my adieus to the hostess, I thank her
most effusively for a delightful evening, refreshments included, and
then hurry grumbling home to get something to eat. Such are some of
the manifestations of social hypocrisy. These all pass current at
their face value, and yet we all know that nobody is deceived. Still
it is great fun to play make-believe, and the world would have
convulsions if we did not indulge in these pleasing deceptions. In
the clever little book "Molly Make-Believe" the girl pretends at
first that she loves the man, and later on comes to love him to
distraction, and she lived happy ever after, too. When, in my fever,
I would ask about my temperature, the nurse would give a numeral
about two degrees below the real record to encourage me, and I can't
think that St. Peter will bar her out just for that.
The psychologists give mild assent to the theory that a physical
attitude may generate an emotion. If I assume a belligerent
attitude, they claim that, in time, I shall feel really belligerent;
that in a loafing attitude I shall presently be loafing; and that, if
I assume the attitude of a listener, I shall soon be listening most
intently. This seems to be justified by the experiences of Edwin
Booth on the stage. He could feign fighting for a time, and then it
became real fighting, and great care had to be taken to avert
disastrous consequences when his sword fully struck its gait. I
believe the psychologists have never fully agreed on the question
whether the man is running from the bear because he is scared or is
scared because he is running.
I dare say Mr. Shakespeare was trying to express this theory when he
said: "Assume a virtue, though you have it not." That's exactly what
I'm trying to have my pupils do all the while. I'm trying to have
them wear their company manners continually, so that, in good time,
they will become their regular working garb. I'm glad to have them
assume the attitudes of diligence and politeness, thinking that their
attitudes may generate the corresponding emotions. It is a severe
strain on a boy at times to seem polite when he feels like hurling
missiles. We both know that his politeness is mere make-believe, but
we pretend not to know, and so move along our ways of hypocrisy
hoping that good may come.
There is a telephone-girl over in the central station, wherever that
is, who certainly is beautiful if the voice is a true index. Her
tones are dulcet, and her voice is so mellow and well modulated that
I visualize her as another Venus. I suspect that, when she began her
work, some one told her that her tenure of position depended upon the
quality of her voice. So, I imagine, she assumed a tonal quality of
voice that was really a sublimated hypocrisy, and persisted in this
until now that quality of voice is entirely natural. I can't think
that Shakespeare had her specially in mind, but, if I ever have the
good fortune to meet her, I shall certainly ask her if she reads
Shakespeare. Now that I think of it, I shall try this treatment on
my own voice, for it sorely needs treatment. Possibly I ought to
take a course of training at the telephone-station.
I am now thoroughly persuaded that Mr. Lucas gave expression to a
great principle of pedagogy in what he said about hypocrisy, and I
shall try to be diligent in applying it. If I can get my boys to
assume an arithmetical attitude, they may come to have an
arithmetical feeling, and that would give me great joy. I don't care
to have them express their honest feelings either about me or the
work, but would rather have them look polite and interested, even if
it is hypocrisy. I'd like to have all my boys and girls act as if
they consider me absolutely fair, just, and upright, as well as the
most kind, courteous, generous, scholarly, skillful, and complaisant
schoolmaster that ever lived, no matter what they really think.