himself. A person to whom rigid theological beliefs give comfort might deceive himself in order to overlook implausibility in what he would like to assume is true and might, I am sure all will agree, do so without being quite aware of it. This boy did not seem to have any such need. It seemed, with due respect to the difficulties of putting such matters into words, rather a case of there being nowhere within him any valid contrast between believing and not believing or even between a thing of this sort being so or not so.
“Probably why I want to be a vestryman,” he went on, “is because people seem to think a lot of them, consider them important, and sort of look up to them,” There was no sign of irony, playful or otherwise, toward the social group or toward himself. Sincerity is a word which for most people implies positive emotional reactions. Not merely in this boy’s superficial attitude, but in an important sense, one could say there was a striking lack of ordinary insincerity.
In discussing his relations with others he admitted a decline in his affection for his father. He expressed no negative feelings and said he felt, perhaps, he loved his father about as much as, and probably more than, one might expect of the average boy of his age. “But, being perfectly frank, I can’t say I love him the way I do my mother. I am crazy about mother. She and I are very close to each other.” By leading questions it was brought out that he estimated his love for his mother as deep and genuine. He rated it as a feeling not less strong than the maximum that an ordinary person can experience, though he was not boastful or extravagant in phrasing his replies. A few minutes later he mentioned, among other people, the mother of a male friend.
“Oh, Mrs, Blank is a wonderful person. She and I get on perfectly. She understands me. I love Mrs. Blank better than anyone.” “Do you love her better than your mother?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, “I love Mrs. Blank a great deal more than I do Mother. I couldn’t love anybody as much as I do Mrs. Blank!”
He had been frequently thrown with this lady, but apparently his relations with her were superficial and there was no evidence of particular or uncommon affection on her part toward him. She had no idea that he would express himself about her in such a fashion.
A little later he said that his ideal of what a woman should be, and of the sort of wife he would like, was embodied in the fictional Scarlett O’Hara. It was pointed out that this character was thought by some to be portrayed as amazingly selfish, frigid, dishonorable, ruthless, faithless, and petty and that, furthermore, she was scarcely the sort of woman to make a husband happy. He did not deny any of this. Mrs. Blank, who in his own appraisal and in reality, was honest, faithful, gentle, and, in nearly all important respects, the opposite of Scarlett O’Hara, was now recalled to him and he was asked how he could choose both these incompatible figures as a single ideal. He then said that maybe he was mistaken about Scarlett. He had read the novel and remembered it in detail.
There was no indication in him of a reaction such as awakening to an error, or even of surprise accompanying his verbal withdrawal from his fictional heroine. He did not seem to feel any need to revise his attitude as the ordinary man does on finding himself in error. The fact that he had been, as admitted by himself, on the wrong track seemed in no way to stimulate him toward getting on another track. He impressed me as being this way about the most serious and practical matters, and no less so than in this small theoretical question. It was not hard to get the feeling that he had never been on any track at all, that he had not really been committed to his first proposition and so he had nothing to withdraw.
This young man’s parents, in his absence, spoke of his having been an unusually loving and demonstrative child until he was about fourteen years old. “We worried,” his mother said, “because he was too considerate and affectionate. He never did anything wrong. He would do so many sweet, attentive little things to show us how he felt. He used to stay at home and seem to want to be with us so much that I thought it might not be good for him.”
After fourteen a difference became discernible and finally striking. He gradually changed from being over attentive until, in recent years, he seemed cool and showed little convincing evidence of affection to his parents. He seemed to want to be out all the time. Though the parents felt uneasy about these changes, they reassured themselves. He did not drink and had the reputation of being very moral, “pure-minded” and proper. He was liked by his friends, did well but not brilliantly in school, and usually took the lead in superficial activities at clubs and social gatherings.
Occasionally incidents arose that briefly alarmed the parents. The boy, when he wanted to have his way about small matters, sometimes seemed utterly unable to see the other side of a question. Once when his mother was physically indisposed and needed to get a number of articles downtown, he refused to help her, saying that he was going to the movies with another boy. His indifference struck her as extreme, and she not only suffered considerable inconvenience and discomfort but also sharp hurt. That night when, as usual, he wanted the family automobile, his father refused him, pointing out that he had not behaved toward his mother in a way to deserve this favor. He reacted, according to his parents, as if an arbitrary and vicious injustice had been done him, showing what looked like a quiet indignation, politely controlled in its grosser aspects but consistent with what one might feel who is for no fault provoked and deeply wronged. Both parents felt that they had often given in to him too much.
On another occasion when he had shown unwillingness to put himself out in even the smallest degree for the comfort of his mother, who was then recovering from a serious attack of illness, his father had pointed out to him that his mother might have died and still was in danger. “Well,” he said, “suppose she did. Everybody has to die sometime. I don’t see why you make so much of it.” He seemed honestly surprised at his father’s reaction. In discussing this with me he still seemed to feel that the most important point in the matter was the factual correctness of his statement about mortality.
Unlike most psychopaths, this case as yet shows relatively little obvious disturbance in his social situation. There is no trail behind him now of a hundred thefts and forgeries, repeated time after time in clear knowledge of the consequences. He has, in general, avoided outraging his friends and acquaintances by vividly antisocial acts or distasteful and spectacular folly. Many of his contemporaries smoke, swap bawdy jokes with gusto, sometimes get a little drunk, and not a few indulge in illicit sexual intercourse. Not doing these things, by which “goodness” or “badness” in people of his age is often judged by the community, he has acquired a considerable reputation for virtue. He goes to church regularly. All this tends to offset what negative qualities he has shown and makes it hard for his friends to realize things about him they might otherwise grasp. Though far from being truthful, his frank manner and his ability to look one in the eye without shame have so far concealed most of his serious shortcomings, not only from his parents but also from a fair percentage of his acquaintances.
Many of Pete’s contemporaries do not, as a matter of fact, regard him as the excellent character and promising young man he appears in the eyes of his elders. He has no really close friends. Bound by no substantial attachments, he has, one might say, the whole of his time and energy for superficial relations and is able to cultivate many acquaintances with whom he is, in a sense, popular. He does not get close enough to anyone in true personal relations to be recognized well in his limitations or to be well understood. What little warmth he possesses is all on the surface and available to one and all. What he offers to the most casual acquaintance is all he could offer to friend, parent, or wife. In general he is accepted as a person representing virtue and manifesting affability. Having no serious interests or aims, he is free to devote more attention than others to social clubs and to young people’s organizations sponsored by school or church for moral purposes. It is easy for him to say the right things and go through the proper motions, for he has no earnest convictions or strong conflicting drives to cause confusion.
Behind an excellent facade of superficial reactions that mimic a normal and socially-approved way of living one can feel in this young
