Winston Churchill once said, “A lie can travel halfway around the world before the truth can get its boots on.” Sounds like something he’d say, right? Only it wasn’t Churchill who said it but Mark Twain. But actually, no, Twain never said this either. Charles Spurgeon did say it, but he wasn’t the first.
The quote had appeared, with only slight differences, in an 1820 American newspaper article. And, as it turns out, there is a long and winding history of how the quote evolved, bit by bit, going back to late antiquity.
Fake attributions for great quotes are common. It’s routinely credited to St. Augustine that we should hold, “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, and in all things charity.” But the real source for this quote is the otherwise unknown Rupertus Meldenius. It’s no surprise that people would rather to name-drop Augustine.
When a quote is so commonly known and distributed over the years as to be a sort public-domain parable, the authorship is less important. The truth of the statement, expressed in a snappy manner, is what counts. But when the name of the author really is important to the quote’s persuasive power, then the morality becomes more dubious. People are more likely to accept that we should grant liberty to secondary doctrinal questions if they think St. Augustine told them to.
And things are especially bad when the citing of the author is meant to project a sense of learnedness on the part of the speaker or writer. Many a public speaker and even pastor has a rolodex of quotes, allegedly from C S Lewis or Martin Luther, when they have no real familiarity with the man or his work. Back in my seminary days, one poor soul implored his classmates, in a sermon assignment, to heed the words of King Solomon and “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” The professor had to inform him that he was actually quoting Hamlet. An honest mistake? Perhaps. But it’s also possible that certain subcultures have become far too reliant on a collection of motivational talking points and are no longer actually consulting the primary sources at all.
Another danger with great quotes is that they can become a hit single. They are so good that they stand apart from the work as a whole and are never interpreted in light of what they were trying to do in that original work. Consider the problem with the song “Let It Go” from Frozen. It became so popular that many more people heard it than actually watched the movie. Indeed, elementary school children today, eleven years after Frozen appeared in theaters, sing the song, or at least its chorus. Many of these kids have never seen the movie. A large part of them have never even been to a movie theater. They hear the song on the play ground or in ballet class. And what do they hear? “Let It Go” is a sort of anthem of defiance, the courage to be yourself even when others judge you or try to hold you back. It’s a message of self-esteem and expressive individualism. It’s a natural fit for today’s America.
And yet “Let It Go” is not the positive message of Frozen. Instead, it highlights the main character’s great flaw, a flaw which the second half of the movie corrects. People who hear “Let It Go” apart from the movie have no way of knowing that the song is actually the problem. But it’s just too good of a song. It stands over and above the movie, and one doesn’t really have to wonder as to which message most triumphed among the broader culture.
One famous quote that has far outshined its source comes from the early 20th century journalist and critic HL Mencken. Mencken was a highly talented writer, able to impress the reader with his scholarship while also making them laugh, usually literally out loud. More than one of his sentences have taken on a life of their own.
The one that appears more and more as of late: “Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.” The line brings to mind a civilized man of modern times who has finally had enough with the social and moral decadence all around. It sounds the cry of the reactionary, the one who must put his ordinary rule of life on pause in order to vanquish the rabble.
Usually, Mencken’s line is used to justify a sort of rhetorical nastiness. Occasionally, though, one fears that the person quoting it has less literary intentions. But what did Mencken actually mean by the quote?
Has anyone in the past few decades bothered to go read the essay? Mencken’s pirate metaphor appears in an essay on modern poetry. He thinks most of what is being set forth as high-class artistic writing is pretentious and fake. The normal man who is tempted to slit throats is the one who knows what real poetry and true scholarship is. And he has one specific such person in mind, Ezra Pound.
Mencken writes:
Pound, it seems to me, is the most picturesque man in the whole movement—a professor turned fantee, Abelard in grand opera. His knowledge is abysmal; he has it readily on tap; moreover, he has a fine ear, and has written many an excellent verse. But now all the glow and gusto of the bard have been transformed into the rage of the pamphleteer: he drops the lute for the bayonet.
One sympathizes with him in his choler. The stupidity he combats is actually almost unbearable. Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.
Man, that really is a great line.
But do you notice something? Even though Mencken sympathizes with Pound, even though he feels the temptation to call for “No Quarter,” he is ultimately criticizing Pound. Mencken goes on to say, “But this business, alas, is fatal to the placid moods and fine other-worldliness of the poet. Pound gives a thrilling show, but—....”
In giving in to the call for war, Mencken believed that Pound also gave up the calling of the poet. It was Pound’s verse that suffered in the end. There was a great blast and show, but the final product, according to Mencken, was a failure.
The true meaning of “Every normal man must tempted… to hoist the black flag” is that the temptation is understandable but destructive. It’ a visceral reaction to a real problem but it is a passion which must be ruled over and redirected. If you give in and actually “begin slitting throats,” then you lose. To understand the great quote, and its true profundity, you have to read the whole argument.
Unfortunately, you’ll probably still be getting your boots on before the next fake quote makes its way across the world. When it does, you’ll have to resist the urge to start slitting throats. But resist also the urge to give yourself the liberty to indulge. Yes, it is a good line. And it is just sitting right there, ready to be used. But make sure you actually know where the quote comes from, what it means, and how to use it.
Beware the great quote.