W E seldom hear the word "faithfulness " used now in
the old-fashioned Evangelical sense, when it bad reference, according to the definition in Murray's Dictionary, " to the duty of telling unwelcome truths and giving unwelcome counsel." Very few people now pride themselves upon being "faithful" with their friends,—i.e., never allowing affection or a proper regard for the liberty of the individual to stand between them and a true expression of unasked opinion. No one boasts that he or she has been " faithful." Such severity may be at times necessary, and often excusable, but it is no longer admired. A tendency to rigorous dealing, whether verbal or otherwise, has lost its place among the virtues, and takes rank among minor defects of character. Of course, we all tell unpleasant truths and give unwelcome advice at times, but not often of set purpose. We do it, so to speak, by accident,—because we have lost our tempers, or are otherwise carried away by our feelings. Those who suffer from the faithful wounds of a friend, or painfully reject his gratuitous guidance, do not try, as their grandfathers tried—after the first moment of inevitable irritation was over—to feel gratitude towards him on the ground of his faithfulness ; at best nowadays they do but try to forgive him for his interference.
All this, of course, is merely a part of the modern softening of manners, the modern respect for the individual, and the modern worship of liberty. For the decay of "faithfulness" within the circle of intimacy comes of the same advance in civilisation which has killed verbal personal violence in the wider circle of cultivated society. Friends no longer dare to play with sharp-edged personalities. Acquaintances no longer search in conversation, as Theodore Hook's contem- poraries appear to have searched, for something to hit with. Unless a man wishes to be hated, he must use his knowledge of the weaknesses of those around him in order to spare, not to chastise them. Sometimes we still see a really hard personal blow given, and the old Adam within us may force us to smile at the dexterity which drove the thrust home; but we feel all the same that the assailant is playing an old- fashioned game, and though circumstances may excuse, they must be very exceptional if they are to justify his action. Not so very long ago the doctrine that one man is as good as another was unknown. The great still believed in their right to rule the small, the old still asserted their superiority over the young, and the wise looked down from an ineffable height upon the foolish. No one doubted of the doctrine of coercion in the abstract; and as physical force was out of most men's power, they applied verbal force with all their strength and will. In the present day we are still—most of us—keenly aware how much more wisely our acquaintance would act if they would but ask our advice ; but we do not force it upon them. We do not doubt for a moment that we are right, but we recognise their right to be wrong. Liberty is now so much regarded that we hardly feel justified in intruding upon our neighbour's privacy, even when he is falling into a metaphorical ditch, and it is apparently our duty to pull him out. Very often, we know, be would far rather be hurt than rescued.
These changes of manners among the inner circles of friends and the outer circles of acquaintances are, we firmly
believe, for the better ; but like almost all changes, they have brought with them certain inevitable evils and losses. To take the good side of the new position first. Sincerity has not suffered as might at first have been feared. On the contrary, the new suavity has put a strong curb upon caprice, and caprice, after all, accounts for more social insincerity than deceit accounts for. Few people desire to deceive ; they simply desire to follow their own moods and do as they like,—to take trouble for a friend or to take none, to be cross or agreeable, according, to use a colloquial phrase, as the fit takes them. Indulgence in this license leads to incon- sequence, and between inconsequence and insincerity the gap is narrow, and is filled by untrustworthiness. A man is not insincere because he is certain to hurt no one. If a dog cannot be relied on not to bite, we say he is treacherous. Again, sincerity has been advanced by the fact that those hypocrites who loved to inflict wounds in cold blood, and then hide behind the screen of duty, have now no cover for their spitefulness, and must abide the penalty of their cruel sport. The sus- picious temper fostered by fear, and by the necessity for every man to he on his guard, is now gone from among the cultivated classes. We are amazed sometimes to see the way in which the poor suspect their best friends. This serious defect in character comes largely from the fact that they are less con- strained to mutual civility than the classes above them. Geniality flourishes only in complete verbal security. The elimination of personal attack from the region of polemical theology has had much to do with the rapid growth of the new virtue of toleration. Opinions are less irritating than persons. But the decay of faithfulness has, in spite of all that can be said in its favour, induced a certain degree of softness in the matter of verbal injuries. There can be no two opinions but that the tie of relationship will bear less strain than formerly, and while quarrelling is less frequent, separation is more common. Small verbal wounds fester far worse than they did, with the result that wise men fear them and the benevolent will not inflict] them. People drift apart for want of plain speaking. Some one in a household, for instance, does something which some one else is unable to put up with. The pleasure afforded by the doing very probably bears no proportion to the pain experienced by the spectator, and the one would gladly relinquish the habit if he could recog- nise without being told that it was obnoxious to the other; but he could not bear with any degree of equanimity the pain of having it pointed out. Consequently the afflicted spectator makes an endeavour to avoid his society. Again, where diametrically opposite opinions are hotly held by members of the same household or circle, the tendency of to-day is to avoid conflict. Both parties are, perhaps, wise in their action ; at any rate, they avoid a serious risk ; but the price of peace is too often paid in the precious coin of intimacy. One subject after another is closed between them, till no road remains safe but the narrow one of everyday interests, and affection is starved out by self-repression.
Between author and critic faithfulness has become a thing of the past. Some people seem to doubt if it is still legal ! Have we not lately seen an action brought against a reviewer for a severe criticism, and a theatre manager endeavouring to exclude an unfriendly critic. The old reviewers were, no doubt, very cruel, but certain books might still be strangled at birth with advantage to literature. The critics have ceased even to try to coerce the reader. Consequently public opinion and literary opinion are drifting apart. " Slating " is over. Armies of inferior writers march safely through popularity to oblivion. Perhaps no great harm comes of their happiness, and at least the new fashion may save any rising genius from some shrewd knocks. It is true that it is not easy to judge correctly of a book unless the critic sets himself to read it in an attitude of sympathy. It is equally true that it is not easy to judge correctly of a character without the wonderful illumination supplied by liking. All the same, there are times when sympathy is less in place than condemnation, and when the law of letters, like the law of the land, should be allowed to take its course
The use of verbal weapons survives in Parliament, but men no longer know how to use them with effect. The terrible personal indictments made in the beginning of the last century, and the skill with which epigrams were forged and slung, are now things of the- past. No one could say that Members on either side of the House observe a ceremonial
politeness towards their adversaries ; but their verbal warfare is untrained, and though certainly an undignified, for the most part a harmless performance. Invective has become an anachronism, like castellated houses and Court swords. Civilisation is disarming the civilian, even to his tongue and his pen. The change is, upon the whole, a comfortable one— like the change from uniform to mufti—and there is small danger that any serious proportion of Englishmen should ever become too tame.
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