John Bate

“A false witness shall not be unpunished; and he that speaketh lies shall not escape.”—Solomon.

This is a talker who voluntarily speaks untruth with an intention to deceive. He is a painter, giving to subjects colours and views that he knows are false to the original, but which he means to be understood as true by the spectators. He is a dramatist, making representations which do not belong to the characters in the drama, and thereby imposing upon the credulity of the beholders. He is a legerdemain, showing black to be white, and white to be black, and red to be no colour—a factor, producing works which he vends as real, when he knows them to be shams—a witness, bearing testimony to things which have no existence—a tradesman, carrying on business in a fictitious name and with an imaginary capital.

This talker may be met with in a variety of aspects and relations: in the shop, telling his customer that his goods are the best in town, and cheapest in price, when he knows that they are far from being either one or the other; in the market, declaring that the fruit is fresh gathered and fish just arrived, when he knows that both are on the eve of decay and rottenness from long keeping; in the manufactory, stating that the article is pure and unadulterated, when he knows that one half or three parts are impure and corrupt. “You shall have it at cost price,” when perhaps the price is ten or twenty per cent. above it. “Selling at twenty-five below cost,” when the proprietor knows he will make a large profit. “They are salvage goods,” or they are “damaged goods from a great fire in Manchester or Edinburgh,” when they are old things which have been damaged in the owner’s own warehouse or cellar. “William, if Mr. Cash calls to inquire if I am at home, tell him I am gone out for the day,” said Mr. Brush to his servant, while he was the whole day engaged in some pet diversion in the bagatelle-room. “You shall most certainly have your new coat by Thursday evening,” says the tailor to Mr. Shaw, upon which promise he makes a special engagement to meet company. Thursday evening comes, and Mr. Shaw finds the promise unfulfilled by the tailor, who knew at the time he should not do as he said. “O, yes, I will meet you at four o’clock on Monday at Mr. Nuncio’s,” when he knew that he was purposing to go in quite an opposite direction at that very hour. “I certainly cannot pay your bill to-day: call on Friday, and I will pay you,” when he knows he has the money on hand, and that when you call on Friday he will not pay you.There are yet three more aspects in which this talker appears before society—as jocular, as officious, as pernicious. As Jocular, he talks with a view to amuse and create merriment by telling stories of his own invention, or what he has heard others repeat, and which he knows not to be true. As Officious, he talks with a view, as he says, to benefit others. He may do it as a parent to benefit his children; or as a husband to benefit his wife; or as an officer in Church or State to benefit those who are subject to him. He thinks the end justifies the means, and he can do evil that good may come. But this is an egregious mistake; for the Divine injunction is that we must not do evil that good may come. “And therefore,” says Bishop Hopkins, “although thine own life or thy neighbour’s depends upon it; yea, put the case it were not only to save his life, but to save his soul, couldest thou by this means most eminently advance the glory of God, or the general good and welfare of the Church, yet thou oughtest not to tell the least lie to promote these great and blessed ends.” As Pernicious, he talks things that are false with a view to injure his neighbour, or any one towards whom he has an evil feeling. It is immaterial to him what the invention is, so that it will answer his malicious design. He can create rumours by wholesale, and dispense them to all who will degrade themselves by accepting them. Aspersions, detractions, slanders, defamations, and calumnies he can conjure in his mind and pour out of his lips without the shadow of a justification. And as there are always persons with ready minds to receive whatever is said to the injury of others, and to circulate it as truth, the liar often succeeds in the accomplishment of his evil purpose. I will give briefly the traits of his character.

1. He is a child of the devil.—“Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it” (John viii. 44). The liar, then, is a legitimate son of this lying father. He speaks as he is inspired by that black spirit of perdition. “Thou never liest,” says Bishop Hopkins, “but thou speakest aloud what the devil whispered softly to thee; the Old Serpent lies folded round in thy heart, and we may hear him hissing in thy voice. And therefore, when God summoned all His heavenly attendants about Him, and demanded who would persuade Ahab to go up and fall at Ramoth-Gilead, an evil spirit that had crowded in amongst them steps forth and undertakes the office as his most natural employment, and that wherein he most of all delighted. ‘I will go forth and be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets’ (I Kings xxii. 22). Every lie thou tellest, consider that the devil sits upon thy tongue, breathes falsehood into thy heart, and forms thy words and accents into deceit.”2. He acts contrary to the Divine mind and nature.—God is truth and in Him is no falsehood at all. What He hath said He will do; what He hath promised He will fulfil. All His thoughts are according to the perfect reality of things; and all His words are in exact accord with His thoughts. Hence the sin of lying is contrary to His very nature, and an abomination in His sight. “These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto Him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among his brethren” (Prov. vi. 16-19). “Lying lips are abomination to the Lord: but they that deal truly are His delight” (Prov. xii. 22).

3. He gives indubitable evidence of a depraved nature.—He is the opposite in nature to a child of “our Father which is in heaven.” “Surely,” says the Lord of His children, “they are My people; children that will not lie: so He became their Saviour” (Isa. lxiii. 8). On the contrary, it is affirmed of the wicked that they “are estranged from the womb; they go astray as soon as they are born, speaking lies” (Ps. lviii. 3). Again it is said, “Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully. Thou lovest evil more than good, and lying rather than to speak righteousness” (Ps. lii. 2, 3). The wicked “delight in lies; they bless with their mouth, but they curse inwardly” (Ps. lxii. 4). Again it is said, “Behold, he travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood” (Ps. vii. 14). Jeremiah’s description of his people answers to the character of the liar in our day. “They bend their tongues like their bow for lies; but they are not valiant for the truth upon the earth, for they proceed from evil to evil, and they know not Me, saith the Lord.” “They will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth; they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity” (Jer. ix. 3, 5).

4. He is generally a coward in respect to men, and a contemner of God.—“To say a man lieth,” says Montaigne, “is to say that he is audacious towards God, and a coward towards men.” “Whosoever lies,” observes Hopkins, “doth it out of a base and sordid fear lest some evil and inconvenience should come unto him by declaring the truth.” “A liar,” remarks Bacon, “is brave towards God and a coward towards man. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man.” “The meanness of lying,” says Gilpin, “arises from the cowardice which it implies. We dare not boldly and nobly speak the truth, but have recourse to low subterfuges, which always show a sordid and disingenuous mind. Hence it is that in the fashionable world the word liar is always considered as a term of peculiar reproach.”

“Lie not, but let thy heart be true to God,
Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both.

Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod;
The stormy working soul spits lies and froth.”

Again, says the poet:—

“Dishonour waits on perfidy. The villain
Should blush to think a falsehood; ’tis the crime Of cowards.”

5. As a rule he is the most condemned and shunned of all the talkers in society.—Those who have any self-respect avoid him. The noble and virtuous stand aloof from his company. He is regarded as a dangerous person, possessed of deadly weapons, subject to a deadly malady. He is not depended upon at any time, or in anything. Even his veracity is suspected, if not discredited altogether; so that when he does speak the truth there is little or no confidence reposed in what he says as the truth. Aristotle, being asked what a man would gain by telling a lie, answered, “Not to be credited when he shall tell the truth.”

The poet, in a dialogue with Vice, thus represents the liar or falsehood as the greatest fiend on earth. Vice inquires of Falsehood:—

“And, secret one! what hast thou done
To compare, in thy tumid pride, with me?
I, whose career, through the blasted year,
Has been tracked by despair and agony.”

To which Falsehood replies:—

“What have I done? I have torn the robe
From Baby Truth’s unsheltered form,
And round the desolated globe
Borne safely the bewildering charm:
My tyrant-slaves to a dungeon floor
Have bound the fearless innocent,
And streams of fertilizing gore
Flow from her bosom’s hideous rent,
Which this unfailing dagger gave....
I dread that blood!—no more—this day
Is ours, though her eternal ray
Must shine upon our grave.
Yet know, proud Vice, had I not given
To thee the robe I stole from heaven,
Thy shape of ugliness and fear
Had never gained admission here.”

In view of the enormity of this sin, the language and feeling of the good is, “I hate and abhor lying;” “A righteous man hateth lying;” “The remnant of Israel shall not do iniquity nor speak lies, neither shall a deceitful tongue be found in their mouth.” They pray against the sin, “Remove from me the way of lying;” “Remove far from me vanity and lies.” They do not respect those who are guilty of the sin. “Blessed is the man that maketh the Lord his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies;” “He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.” It would be well if all professing Christians would act upon this resolution of the Psalmist, and exclude all liars from their presence.

6. He is generally characterized for other evils as associated and produced by his lying.—The degeneracy of moral principle which can impose upon the credulity of mankind by the invention and statement of what is known to be untrue is capable of other acts of vice and immorality. Hence the prophet Hosea, in speaking to the Israelites of the judgments that should come upon them, declares that “the Lord hath a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land. By swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery they break out, and blood toucheth blood.” Here we see the brood of evils associated with lying. “A lying tongue,” says Solomon, “hateth those that are afflicted by it.” It not only afflicts, but hates them whom it does afflict—hates them under the calamity of which itself has been the cause. “A liar,” he again says, “giveth ear to a naughty tongue.” He listens to lies, to slander, to cursing, to profanity, and the various evils constituting a “naughty tongue.”

7. He often tries to conceal his previous sins by lying, and to conceal his lying by subsequent sins.—Ananias and Sapphira sinned in keeping back part of the price, and then they lied in endeavouring to cover that (Acts v.). Cain sinned in murdering his brother, and then lied in the attempt to hide it (Gen. iv. 9). Jacob did wrong in appearing before his father as Esau, and sustained his wrong by a lie. The brethren of Joseph transgressed in dealing unkindly with him and selling him into the hands of the Ishmaelites, and then to conceal the matter they deceived their father by lying (Gen. xxxvii. 31, 32). Samson committed sin by throwing himself into the power of Delilah, and sought his deliverance from her hands by telling lies (Judges xvi. 10).

And so the liar has to resort to additional sin in defending himself against his lying. One lie begets another lie to sustain it. Sometimes it calls forth an oath, a blasphemy, a curse, perjury, and other kinds of sin. Gehazi lied to Naaman concerning his master, and then to clear himself before his master he lied a second time (2 Kings v. 22, 25). Peter also lied in saying that he knew not Jesus, and to sustain himself in it, when discovered, he cursed and swore, and thus doubled his crime (Matt. xxvi. 72).

“One lie,” says Owen, “must be thatched with another, or it will soon rain through.” “He who tells a lie,” remarks Pope, “is not sensible how great a task he undertakes, for he must be forced to invent twenty more to maintain that one.” “When one lie becomes due,” says Thackeray, “you must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of your lies in circulation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of detection increases every day.”

It is astounding to a serious mind to observe how some persons can run on in the repetition of falsehoods; and who, upon an apprehension of discovery, will yet go on paying the price of what they have told by continuing to lie on. It is also humiliating to one’s humanity to notice oftentimes the cunning, subtlety, paltry tricks resorted to in order to cover over the lies which are exposed to detection.

“This is the curse of every evil deed,—
That, propagating still, it brings forth evil.”

8. He is almost invariably discovered in his sin.—“The lip of truth,” says the wise man, “shall be established for ever; but a lying tongue is but for a moment” (Prov. xii. 19). The moral government of God is maintained by truth. It is engaged in the promulgation and defence of truth. He who lies is a violator of its sacred laws, and exposes himself to the searching and grasping power of justice. The agents of the justice of God are numerous, and by one or the other the rebel is sure to be discovered and brought to public exposure in his criminality. There is a general love to truth and hatred to lies among mankind, and the belief or suspicion of a lie leads at once to the use of means to find it out, in order to know the truth and expose the falsehood. Truth known as truth is never questioned. It remains inviolable and eternal. It stands as the admiration of the intelligent universe. But falsehood is transient in its power and reign, and exists while it does exist as the object of execration to all the rational beings of heaven and earth.

9. He cannot go unpunished.—He is punished in the remorse and condemnation of his conscience; in the abhorrence of him in the judgment of every respectable member of society; in the continual fear he has of shameful discovery. None can trust him. It is against the moral instinct of human nature to confide in a liar. Children cannot trust their parents when they know they lie. Even the ties of kindred, however close, cannot create mutual assurance in the face of habitual falsehood.

Fidelity in every authority visits lying with punishment. Children are punished by parents; servants by their masters. A liar is such a mischievous member of the community that the almost unanimous feeling towards him is one of condemnation.

The Scriptures contain most fearful words expressive of the retribution which shall come upon the liar:—

“I will be a swift witness against false-swearers, and them that fear not Me, saith the Lord of hosts.” “Thou shalt destroy them that speak leasing: the Lord will abhor the bloody and deceitful man.” “What shall be given unto, or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue? Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper.” “A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall not escape.” “But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” “And there shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination or maketh a lie.” “For without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.”

In illustration of some of the preceding sentiments, I give the following:—

An American lawyer says: “On entering college, I promised my mother, whom I loved as I have never loved another mortal, that while there I would not taste of intoxicating liquor, nor play at cards, or other games of hazard, nor borrow money. And I never did, and never have since. I have lived well-nigh sixty years, yet have never learned to tell a king from a knave among cards, nor Hock from Burgundy among wines, nor have I ever asked for the loan of a single dollar. Thanks to my mother!—loving, careful, anxious for me, but not over-careful nor over-anxious. How could she be, when I was so weak and ignorant of my weakness, feeling myself strong because my strength was untried, and such a life as human life is, such temptations as beset the young, before me.

“She did not ask me to promise not to swear. She would not wrong me by the thought that I could swear; and she was right. I could not. How can any one so insult the Holy, the All-Excellent, our Father, and best friend? Nor did she ask me not to lie. She thought I could not lie. Had she thought otherwise, my promise would have been of little value to her. And I also thought I could not. I despised lying as a weakness, cowardice, meanness, the concentration of baseness. I felt strong enough, manly enough, to accomplish my end without it. I had no fear of facing my own acts. Why should I shrink before my fellows for anything I had done? Lie to them to conceal myself or my acts? Nay, I would not have faults to be concealed. My own character, my own life, was more to me than the esteem of others. I would do nothing fit to have hidden, or which I might wish to hide. I thought I could not lie, and I could not for myself.

“During my second college year there was a great deal of card-playing among the students. The Faculty tried to prevent it, but found it difficult. Though I never played, my chum did, and sometimes others played with him in our room when I was present. I not unfrequently saw the students at cards. One of the professors questioned me upon the subject.

“‘Have you ever seen any card-playing among the students?’

“‘No, sir,’ I answered firmly, determined not to expose my fellows. ‘A lie of honour!’ I said to myself. What coupling of contradictions! As well talk of ‘honest theft!’ ‘innocent sin!’

“‘You are ignorant of any card-playing in the college building, Brown?’

“‘Yes, sir,’

“‘We can believe you, Brown.’

“I was ready to sink. Nothing else could have smitten, stung me, like that. Such confidence, and I so unworthy of it. Still I held back the truth.

“But I left the professor’s room another person than I entered it—guilty, humbled, wretched. That one false word had spoiled everything for me. All my past manliness was shadowed by it. My ease of mind had left me, my self-respect was gone. I felt uncertain, unsafe. I stood upon a lie, trembling, tottering. How soon might I not fail? I was right in feeling unsafe. It is always unsafe to lie. My feet were sliding beneath me. One of the students had lost a quarter’s allowance in play, and applied to his father for a fresh remittance, stating his loss. His father had made complaint to the college Faculty, and there was an investigation of the facts. The money had been staked and lost in my room. I was present.

“‘Was Brown there?’ asked the professor.

“‘He was.’

“The professor’s eyes rested on me. Where was my honour then—my manliness? and where the trust reposed in me? Did any say, ‘We can believe you, Brown,’ after that? Did any excuse my lie—any talk of my honour then? Not one. They said, ‘We didn’t think it of you, Brown!’ ‘I didn’t suppose Brown would lie for his right hand!’

“It was enough to kill me. But there was no help. I had to bear my sin and shame as best I might, and try to outlive it. No one trusted me as before. No one could, for who knew whether my integrity might not again fail? I could not trust myself until I had obtained strength as well as pardon from God, nor even then, until I had many times been tried and tempted, and found His strength sufficient for me.”

Bessie was a little girl, not very old. One morning, as she stood before the glass pinning a large rose upon her bosom, her mother called her to take care of the baby a few minutes. Now Bessie wanted just then to go out into the garden to play, so she went very unwillingly.

Her mother bade her sit down in her little chair, placed the baby carefully in her lap, and left the room. The red rose instantly attracted the little one’s attention, and quick as thought the chubby little fingers grasped it, and before Bessie could say, “What are you about?” the rose was crushed and scattered. Bessie was so angry that she struck the baby a hard blow. The baby, like all other babies, screamed right lustily. The mother, hearing the uproar, ran to see what was the matter. Bessie, to save herself from punishment, told her mother that her little brother Ben, who was playing in the room, had struck the baby as hard as he could.

Ben, although he declared his innocence, received the punishment which Bessie so richly deserved. Bessie went to school soon after, but she did not feel happy.

That night, as she lay in her bed, she could not go to sleep for thinking of the dreadful wrong she had committed against her brother and against God; and she resolved that night to tell her mother the next morning. When morning came, however, she felt as if there was something kept her back; she could not make up her mind to confess the sin; it did not seem so great as the night before. It was not much, after all, her silly heart said. As day after day passed, Bessie felt the burden less and less, and she might have fallen into the same sin again had a temptation presented itself, but for a sad event. One morning, when she came home from school, she found Ben ill with a frightful throat distemper. He had been so all the forenoon. He continued to grow worse, and the next evening he died.

Poor Bessie! it seemed as if her heart would break. Kind friends tried to comfort her. They told her that he was happy; that he had gone to live with the Saviour who loved little children; and if she was good, she would go to see him, though he could not come again to her.

“O!” said the child, “I am not crying because he has gone to heaven, but because I told that lie about him; because he got the punishment which belonged to me.”

For a long time she refused to be comforted.

Several years have passed. Bessie is now of woman’s size; but the remembrance of that lie yet stings her soul to the quick. It took less than one minute to utter, but many years have not effaced the sorrow and shame which followed it.

A mother sat with her youngest daughter, a sprightly child, five years of age, enjoying an afternoon chit-chat with a few friends, when a little girl, a playmate of the daughter of Mrs. P., came running into the sitting-room, and cried,—

“Where is Jane? I’ve got something for her.”

“She is out,” said the mother.“What have you got? Show it to me,” eagerly exclaimed Hannah, the mother’s favourite. “I’ll give it to her.”

The little girl handed Hannah a bouquet of flowers, which she had gathered for Jane, and returned home with the faith that her kindness had not been misapplied. She had scarcely left the room, when Hannah, standing by her mother’s chair, talking to herself, said, loud enough to be heard across the room,—

“I like flowers—she often calls me Jane—she thinks I am Jane—I’m going to keep this bouquet.”

The mother made no objection to the soliloquy, and Hannah immediately began to pick the leaves from the handsome rose, for the purpose of making rose water. She had not completed her task when Jane bounded into the room, and seeing Hannah with flowers, exclaimed,—

“I’m going to have a bouquet pretty soon. Sally Johnson said she would bring me one this afternoon.”

“But she won’t,” said Hannah.

“I’ll go and see,” returned Jane, tripping as she spoke towards the front door.

“Here, Jane,” said the mother, “Sally brought this bouquet for you, but you were not in, and she gave it to Hannah.”

The tears started in Jane’s eyes. She felt that she had been robbed, and she knew that Hannah had been preferred to her. Hannah had been encouraged in a deliberate falsehood and in deception towards her sister. Many a time since has that mother felt herself obliged to punish her daughter for prevarications, and often has she been heard to say that she wondered where so small a child learned so much deceit.

This is a small affair at best, some may say; but do not

“Large streams from little fountains flow—
Tall oaks from little acorns grow?”

And do not the “small beginnings” of instruction lay the foundation of man’s or woman’s character?

The following lines are a solemn admonition against this sin, spoken by one who had committed it and fallen under its terrible punishment:—

“My sin, Ismenus, has wrought all this ill;
And I beseech thee to be warned by me,
And do not lie, if any man should ask thee
But how thou dost, or what o’clock ’tis now;
Be sure thou do not lie, make no excuse
For him that is most near thee; never let
The most officious falsehood ’scape thy tongue;
For they above (that are entirely Truth)
Will make the seed which thou hast sown of lies
Yield miseries a thousandfold
Upon thine head, as they have done on mine.”