THE PROPORTIONS OF PRETENCE.
THE other day the present writer heard a doctor warmly defending human nature, and as warmly defending his own right to an opinion. The experienced physician had, he said, exceptional opportunities for seeing men in their true colours. With all its pretences cast away, the world, he vowed, appeared to him in a better light than when he accepted it at its own valuation. The view is extraordinarily optimistic, at first sight perhaps incredibly so, since it is obvious that more people pretend to be better than they are than ever pretend to be worse. It goes without saying that such a thing as pretending to be worse exists, but it is in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mere matter of pretending to pretend. The person speaking does not wish, even for a moment, to deceive any one. He may even wish to make the listener suspect him of extra-goodness ; but most likely he is clumsily guarding himself against any possible accusation of boasting, or practising what he believes the finest manners. The people who, if we may be allowed the expression, sincerely pretend to be bad are exceptional and abnormal. What the doctor probably meant was that when all their pretences fall off them the majority of men and women become likeable, and that he found himself in sympathy with more of his fellow-creatures than he could have imagined possible had he only seen them in ordinary health and, moderately free from anxiety, busily doing what was expected of them.
At great crises we are all, to use a common and singularly in- correct expression, " shaken out of ourselves." It would really be more true to say that we are shaken out of our roles and into ourselves, for we almost all play a part. Sick men, however, have no spare strength to act, and people in sorrow and anxiety cast their roles behind them. Simplicity is of necessity a rare quality— and in saying this we do not bring any indictment against human nature, for a certain amount of pretence is almost invariably in- separable from a strong sense of duty and of loyalty Fate has put so many round people into square holes, and they must pretend that the situation fits them. They would be shirkers if they did not. They must play a part if they would play the man. If a man finds himself in authority, he must rule ; and if he finds himself under authority, he must serve. He may get to feel himself at home in either lot, but he may never be quite himself in it. Like All actors, his tendency will be to exaggerate, and his acquaintances will very likely ridicule, or even detest, him because they only know him upon the stage. The individuality of a great many of the best people is entirely hidden behind that admirable thing which we call esprit de corps. They appear to the world simply as members of a body, and those who dislike that body will dislike them. Probably as " members " they fulfil their highest destiny, but they effectually hide their personalities, and those who are outside their " body " and for some reason dislike it will dislike them. They cannot forget, very often it is their duty not to forget, what " a person in my position " must "do," or they might very often with equal truth say "must pretend." All social distinctions have some pretence about them. Men and women keep constantly in mind that they belong to " the rich " or " the poor," this or that trade or profession, this or that " body of opinion." The touch of Nature, the power of contact with individuals outside the circle in which they move, is effectually prevented. The clergy are an obvious case in point. They cannot admit themselves a prey to the doubts, fears, and temptations, above all the vicissitudes of opinion, by which their congregations are swayed. In some sense they must act a part, and they are thus constantly in danger of losing touch with a world in a state of intellectual flux. In sickness or sorrow, however, all men are once more individuals. Social, and to a large extent intellectual, differences, of whatever kind, melt away before the doctor's eyes, and a sympathetic doctor feels the whole world kin. It used to be commonly said, and now again lately one hears it repeated, that suffering is the great educator, the one thing which develops the soul. The present writer does not agree with this view, because the section of society which suffers most hardship is not, so far as he can see, better or more fully developed—though infinitely more excusable—than the section which enjoys greater immunity from suffering. Suffering does not necessarily develop the soul, but it renders its development visible because it strips it of pretence. It is impossible to feel anything but superficial liking for those whom one knows only superficially. We are not, of course, speaking of passion, which is intuitive, but of ordinary friendly feeling, a feeling for whose exercise a doctor has 'far more opportunity than another man.
One very common form of pretence arises from the strong feeling of loyalty which most of us are conscious of to our past selves. We cannot bring ourselves to admit that we are not quite the same characters as we were when we were young. Experience has widened our minds. We no longer condemn and excuse as we used to do. We are less definite and assured, perhaps, in all our views. We keep up our reputations, however, diligently. We have a great tenderness for the notions which once we held truths ; we have a great tenderness for the young man or woman who made such a great mistake. We still out of an odd sort of self-love speak as if we had not changed, even though we know in our hearts that the change has been for the better. In great trouble that self-love falls off us, and we show ourselves to have developed along normal lines, and not to be the elderly children, with all the freshness of youth gone and nothing but its prejudices left, which we choose to pretend we are.
But, it may be said, people are not themselves when they are sick and sorry ; they are possessed by many devils of discontent. Anxious people also must ask much excuse from their friends. Superficially there may be a good deal to be said for this point of view, but we are inclined to think the evidence in favour of our argument is overwhelming. Take the present relation of the educated world at home to the soldiers. Is it in the least the same relation as existed when we called the British " Tommy " the British working man ? A vast number of circumstances have obviously combined to bring about this change. We are grateful. enthusiastic, patriotic, what you will ; but has not our change from a critical to an affectionate attitude a great deal to do with the fact that we have seen this working-man-soldier ill ? On his back in bed, " broken up," suffering, disabled, we have come close to him. All his " pretences " are gone. We have seen him as a doctor sees his patients, man to man, and, like the doctor, we must review our judgment—with little doubt that it will be to change it in a favourable sense, humbly hoping, for the sake of the lasting peace of English society, that the soldier may also review his, when he sees that we also in times of trouble cease to pretend.
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