| “NO, I AIN’T been licking the cake-mix bowl!” says the child, with cake mix all over his face. Right, and Gordon Brown never had it in mind to hold an election last October.
Lying is the preserve of the unfree, but there is some dispute about when we begin it. In a recent book by Kumuda Reddy, she describes how babies as young as eight months will fake laughter; how, by nine months, a baby will feign deafness to his or her mother’s instructions; and, by two-and-a-half, children are into the business of saving face — “It was her/him!” And there I was thinking these were largely adult occupations.
The conventional line is that genuine deception does not get going until about the age of four, when children become aware that the minds of other people are different from theirs. This makes sense. If the child imagines that everyone shares his or her mind, then making things up is simply a waste of good playtime. Telling untruths requires a tragic sense of separateness from the whole. But, if Dr Reddy is right, children are testing this sense in their early years with all sorts of speculative porkies.
This is all very well, and sometimes comic, but the trouble is that we then carry on. What we started in nappies, we continue in skirts and long trousers.
The Labour Party had election-planning all over its face last autumn. But then Mr Brown tells us: “I ain’t done nuffin’.” Why? This country was weary of falsehood. “B.Liar” worked as an anti-war slogan only because it contained seeds of truth. In such a climate, Mr Brown was something of a relief. “Not Flash — just Gordon.” Yes, that’ll do nicely. And it did — until he, too, imagined a lie would do the trick. Treat people like fools, and you become the greatest fool of all. The fools never forgave Mr Blair; and they may not forgive Mr Brown.
The most common lie eases social situations: “What a nice hat you’re wearing,” we say, and it seems to do the trick. Others lie to make themselves appear more intriguing: “I always feel you don’t really know Everest until your third climb — barefoot.”
Of course, Mr Brown lied because he did not want to appear just another calculating politician, but, in so doing, he merely confirmed that he was one. “Not Flash — just shamelessly trying it on.”
Those trained in counter-interrogation techniques advise us against fibbing. Tell a lie, and you will be found out a week later, when stressful conditions break you. So, whether it is the CIA, or a militia group that holds you, the golden rule is this: Do not lie — just conceal the truth. And this is a common tactic for all who feel imprisoned by life in some way. Despair can make concealers of us all. But note: when we lie, blood rushes to the tip of the nose, causing a slight swelling — the famous Pinocchio effect.
Free, or unfree? The tip of your nose tells all.
www.simonparke.com
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