THE C A.NT OF SOCIAL SINCERITY.
DOES the present cult—we might almost say the present cant—of sincerity make for social amenity P It is surely doubtful, to say the least. The social world, at any rate, is a stage, whatever the real world may be. The chief parts are assigned to women ; the by-play and the wording are always new, but the plot does not change with the ages, and the play is by no means an altogether extempore affair. The actors depend upon each other, and wait for their cues, even though these may not be verbal. Of course, the social world is not synonymous with the great world any more than " the urban population " is synonymous with the dwellers in London. There is a society everywhere, and a play going on in it in which all, except the mass, are both actors and spectators. Conditions differ
in detail in different parts of the social world, just as con- ditions differ in detail in different towns of the same country, but fundamentally they are alike. The latest stage convention is roughness—everywhere—and it bids fair to destroy the delicate nuances of the play. Why roughness should be supposed to denote sincerity it is hard to say, since roughness is a common affectation, and very few educated women are naturally rough. We suppose that that ubiquitous force, reaction, must be looked to for an explanation. But, whatever the cause of the present affecta- tion of sincerity, its result is sameness.
Take a small matter to begin with—the question of the inflexions of the voice. There was a time when the sound of voices at a little distance gave some vague suggestion of the nature of the subject which occupied the speakers. Nowadays everything is discussed in the same tone. To give or to receive a piece of bad news—though it had no personal effect on anyone present—with voluble cheerfulness is certainly not art, neither, for that matter, is it nature; it is simply affectation—an affectation of sincerity. It is true, no doubt, that there is a certain pleasure in convey- ing any news, and a certain pleasure in hearing it—even though it be bad—so long as it does not concern ourselves or those whom we love as ourselves; but the pleasure is not fiendish—it is dramatic. This is a. fact which it is surely good for the community to keep before their minds, and it is, if we may be allowed a paradoxical phrase, most naturally expressed by a little acting. It is perfectly legitimate in the hearer to heighten the dramatic effect ; indeed, it is unsocial to ignore it. To insist upon saying to all and sundry that we enjoy the news, and are indifferent to its nature, is absurd. We decrease its interest even as we speak, and so add to the dul- ness of the world. -Until lately, intimacy or special kindness was suggested by inflexions of the voice. Now the same hard tones do for everyone, and women address their dearest friends and their own children very often, much as they might address a strange policeman. The loss of variety in address is a considerable loss, for in England we are not rich in forms, and have no substitute for the French and German "thee" and "thou." No doubt the older fashion led to affectation. So do all fashions. The pleasanter affectation should always be preferred.
Again, there are certain modern social traditions which have stood for a long time, and whose origin marked a social advance from which, in the pursuit of sincerity, we are going back. It has been for generations an understood thing that we do not visit each other primarily for the sake of what we can get, though it is im- possible to eliminate that consideration as secondary. Originally no doubt feasting came first. Men met to eat rather than to talk, and social life languishes among the poor because food is scarce. When wealth first began to be the fashion, a polite fiction was maintained that it still constituted but a lesser part of social attraction. Now its charms are quite openly acknowledged. People do not keep up a pretence of seeking the rich because they like them. In very many cases they would be sorry to be thought to have such bad taste. Again, we are speaking of society as a whole—not of those circles whose doings are chronicled in newspapers, and not of those "rich" whose wealth is sufficient to ensure power—we are speaking of the whole social world: of the majority of that world where wealth means nothing more than motor-cars and many servantie and much fine food and some degree of display. Nowadays many of these rich people are as openly criticized as they are openly sought—for what the seeker can get. No one makes any pretence that if they were poor they would go near them. The word " poor " brings to mind another instance of affected sincerity. It is the fashion among the lesser rich not only to make sham confessions of economy, but to complain of actual poverty, in a manner which the real poor must regard as cynical, and which must make them distrustful of all public( expression of sympathy. Such "crocodile" complaints serve no purpose but to inform the world that the complainer would be still more at home in a more "lordly pleasure house " than the one in which he finds himself.
Turn now to the subject of " old friends." There has been since the beginning of what we call modern times a certain amount of struggle upwards plainly observable in every province of the world of society. Different peaks attract
different mountaineers. The sunny atmosphere which sur- rounds the highly born is considered a tonic by some—the smell of money refreshes many—and a prominent situation attracts more. This is natural ; it is not therefore in- evitable, but it is excusable. Before these days of bare sincerity a social stage tradition existed which provided for the treatment of old friends. The outward forms of courtesy were maintained towards them, even at a sacrifice. All such pretence is out of fashion. The very disagreeable and cynical expression about kicking down the ladder was invented, it is true, a good many years ago— when the sound of its clatter was rarer and more remarkable. Now social aspirations are openly expressed and social nerves are strained to the uttermost without disguise, and all impedi- menta are discarded as soon as the goal is fairly in view. The race is a very ugly sight : now and then the fact strikes even those who are racing.
But if people do, and intend to do, all these rather contemp- tible things, is it not much better that they should throw aside all disguise and do them ? Is it not always best to be sincere ? One wonders, as one asks oneself this question, whether, after all, they are sincere. They used to do very much the same things, but they were ashamed, and the prob- ability is that they are ashamed still, only they will not show it. After all, sincerity does not consist in being ashamed to be ashamed! It is hardly more sincere to declare that one's ideal is on a par with one's practice than it is to pretend that one's practice is on a par with one's ideal. Perhaps the former plan is a little more advantageous to one's own soul. A more important matter than that, perhaps, is the effect produced by this spurious sincerity upon the rising generation. It has always been considered allowable to say—in effect, if not in words—to children, " Do as I say, rather than as I do." It is better that they should think that we have an ideal and fall below it than that they should arrive at the crude and false conclusion that we have no ideal at all, and that our social conscience is a purely negative one, and says only, "Avoid hypocrisy." Example, we know, is better than precept, but what about the result when neither is visible ? Where example is all that can be desired there is really very little need for precept and cer- tainly none for pretence. But, as things are, the young women of to-day are surely disporting themselves in a very had atmosphere. Would it not be well to pump in a little oxygen by paying a little more homage to high mindedness? After all, the world gives us no reason to suppose that in doing so we should be paying homage to a fiction. Self- interest, after all, can never be the strongest social force. Its action is in the end disintegrating.
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