THE UNRULY MEMBER

Evening Star, Issue 22805, 13 November 1937, Page 2

THE UNRULY MEMBER

[Written by jMaiiv Scott, for the ‘ Evening Slar.’J “ Bnfc the tongue can no man tame.” Wise St. James, how. sad and resigned i note you have struck in those pessimistic words! To-day, more than ever before, great matters are daily kindled by this “little lire. A few weeks ago lioosevelt spoke, and there was a momentary halt, a trembling of uneasiness amongst the makers of the most nhuman slaughter of the century. A ,'ew months ago the English papers orinted in heavy type: ‘Europe Waits for Hitler’s Speech ’; not long after the same headlines flared out to record the fact that II Duce had made a startling announcement in Italy. Continually we read, in slighter, smaller type, that

‘Mr Eclcn Expresses Himself.’ Everywhere, all over the world, wo have reason to know how great a matter a little fire can kindle. The immensely increased influence of the tongue to-day is due, of course, to the sudden leaping advancement of science. Words arc not allowed to die, not even the wildest of them. They are flung in a moment into every corner of the world, blared out on a .million loud speakers, starred in the tall headlines of a thousand papers. No wonder the word has more power to heal and .to slay to-day than ever it had. So dangerous is it becoming that it seems strange that this science that has endowed it with such unwieldy power, has attempted in no way to control or curtail that power. Some method of automatic control is urgently needed. Wo are able to harness Niagara; why can we not guide or at least abate this torrent of words that pours daily upon our heads? Most of us would be glad enough to avail ourselves of some such invention; most of us realise the harm that even the most amiable of tongues is able to accomplish almost without its owner’s knowledge or at any rate without his deliberate wish. We are wise enough to know the signs of that dangerous weakness that holsters itself up with foolish words; what a pity, then, that there is no invention behind which we can take refuge: no invisible string we can pull that will hold that unruly member in check. Surely even members of Parliament would be secretly glad of such a safeguard, more particularly when they knew that they were being too faithfully recorded on scores of wireless sets.

These gloomy reflections have been induced in mp by two confidences which I have lately received from two friends as different and as far apart in their points of view; as the Poles. A. is a kindly little soul whom I cannot imagine ever hurting any fellow-crea-ture; very often, 1 think, she must hurt herself, for she is as sensitive as she is thoughtful of others. When she unburdened herself of her sad tale my sympathy was mingled with amusement, for in this case it was abundantly clear that she was to be the chief sufferer. It appeared that her censorious world had been discussing Mr X., dealing so faithfully with his shortcomings that A. felt bound to defend him. “ I like him.” she heard herself saying, already to her own dismay. “ He’s good company and he has a sense of humour.” Poor A.! Of course, the well-meant remark reached X., and at once he expanded, conscious of social triumph. He is indeed the king of all the boros, and perhaps has been unhappily aware of failure; certainly the praise has worked miracles, for, whereas before he had at least the merit of diffidence, he is now proudly certain of an audience. Need I say that A. is that audience? Ho follows her persistently with stories and jokes of antediluvian interest.and charm, but of no other. He beams appreciatively at her when they meet at a party: “ I saved a good one for you to-day ” —and A.’s face falls at once. “Jf only I could learn to hold ray tongue,” she said mournfully, when gravity had been restored. “ i’vo done it before and the family got so angry

with me.”- Pressed for details, she unfolded the pathetic tale of Mavis and the singing voice. Mavis was her very unattractive maid, and, finding her one day in tears over the fickleness of someone referred to obscurely as “ the boyfriend,” her mistress had sought vainly for one charm with which she could bolster up poor Mavis’s damaged selfesteem. “ I’m sure you have a pretty singing voice,” some evil sprite prompted her to say. Mavis brightened at once —but the household wilted, for from that moment it was a case of music, music all the way —and all the day. Some music, too. Mavis sang herself back to happiness, but very nearly sang her kindly little mistress into a nervous breakdown. And it was all wasted, too, because the wretched young man came back after all and married her—but not till she had sung every note of ‘ The Isle of Capri’ wrong at least a million times. “ I met them the other day and she told me that she was so grateful for my advice and had been taking singing lessons and practising on a piano they had bought by the hire-purchase system.” Vainly I tried to cheer her by pointing out” that probably by now Mavis had learned to sing partly m tune, and that at least she had provided a new interest in her life. “ And probably ‘ruined them through the instalments on that quite unnecessary piano,” she replied mournfully, and wont her way agreeing with me that even a kindly tongue could do with a patent silencer at times. B.’s confidences were of quite a different order, for B. is young, clever, ruthless. “ I am always hurting people’s feelings,” she said sadly. “ I get so irritated with their stupidity or their conceit that retorts just fly out before I even think of them. If only I could find some way of holding my tongue.” I sympathised; for which of ns, for all our good intentions, has not been guilty at times of such lapses? I quoted tit. James to her, and she told me some of the mighty conflagrations that had some from the little fire kindled by that unruly member. “ ‘We put bits in the- horses’ mouths so that thev may obey us,’ ” she repeated thoughtfully; “yes, somebody ought to invent some system of control before we wreck the whole world by this tongue that no man can tame, that is ‘an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.’ ” Considering the two complaints later, I felt that the one was doing some good in the world, however painful the process might be to herself. My kind little friend hurts nobody; rather, probably, she does active good. 'When X. has practised on her, he may acquire some wit or at least some readiness as a conversationalist; after inflicting luii - false notes on A.’s household, Mavis married triumphantly and is now possibly acquiring a taste for some sort of harmony (“ But think of the neighbours,” said A,, when I suggested this to her). However that may he, I know whose lapses I would prefer to share. Better, it seems to me, to utter any false praise kindly meant than to dam up even the smallest stream of mankind’s joy. To hurt one’s fellowcreatures is merely the most wanton of mistakes; to spoil anyone’s happiness, even for one day, the heaviest of responsibilities. Ido not admire insincerity, even the spontaneous, almost automatic kind that A.’.s tongue utters to her own regret and surprise; but kindness is better than unwarranted truth-telling at times.

The old P.uritan idea that we must not praise lest it engender hurtful pride is a harsh, unlovely doctrine that brought no joy with it. A little honest praise does no one any harm : it does a vast amount of good to most people. Beneath our various sorts of armour most of us are humble and self-distrust-ful enough : a few words of praise often set ns up for a whole day. help us to endure many troubles and yet retain a comfortable little feeling of warmth about the heart. Occasionally there may he kindled a false blaze; Z. may imagine himself finer. kinder, more open-hearted than he is. Even so, the odds are that he will try_ to live up to it. Even unearned praise- seems preferable to harsh criticism ; at any rate, t know which I would rather have upon mv conscience at night—a kind little white lie, or a stern, unprepossessing, unkind truth.