The two extreme types of lie are therefore the positive, which creates a complete fiction, interpolated by imagination in the world of reality, and the negative, which removes from outward expression whatever might furnish a clew to the truth. Between these two extremes may be arranged the other types, in the order of their affinities; thus:

Classification of Lies (or, Modes of Suggesting Error)

To this classification of lies would correspond that of liars. Those who make positive suggestions exhibit capacity of invention; those who make negative suggestions are frequently lacking in imagination. . . . Of course, many lies are mixed in character, partaking both of positive and of negative suggestion. Moreover, every lie in so far as it creates a new form for some supposed fact is deformative, and thus is in a sense a positive suggestion; so that every liar to this extent uses imagination. Nevertheless there is always, within the same group, a relative contrast between the liar who needs more or less mental activity to construct or amplify, and the one who needs merely deny, suppress, or mutilate, without having to invent anything but what is furnished him in the very experience which he desires to impress falsely on the other person. . . .

The lie, then, may be thus defined: A psychosociologic fact of suggestion, oral or otherwise, by means of which one tends, more or less intentionally, to introduce into another's mind a belief, positive or negative, not in harmony with what the actor supposes to be the truth.

Neuromuscular phenomena of the lie. Does the liar's mental state manifest itself by any biologic modifications? As to persons of strong character, skillful to the point of dissimulating the very sentiment which they experience in the act itself of dissimulation, it is certainly difficult to discover in them the traces of the lie. On the other hand, children usually betray themselves readily enough. Some children are reported as lying "with apparent candor"; but these are the scarcely conscious lies, for young beings are rare who dissimulate to the point of giving every appearance of candor. Many are embarrassed; they are uneasy under the inquirer's gaze; their eyes will not meet yours; and they show a haste to escape from further scrutiny, by making involuntary movements to get away or to elude attention or to take up some new activity. Some, in spite of an apparent coolness, cannot avoid contracting the muscles, tapping the sole of the foot in a certain rhythm, crunching something in their fingers, or plunging their hands in their pockets and then taking them out in alternate movements. Others 1 The investigations of the Society for the Psychological Study of Children will here yield still other valuable results.

show their uneasiness by an excitement, an exaggerated boldness amounting to insolence; in their emotion they go beyond all moderation in the passionate expression of their assertions, in the volubility of their language, in the quickness of their answers, or in the audacity of their questions; a sudden release of control seems to give vent to a flow of words which threaten to become incoherent, as in lunatics afflicted with acute mania. In some children, while speech becomes copious, the voice is low, yet with others it is high pitched with outbursts like spasms. The excitement may induce only vasomotor modifications, blushes, or paleness, or each alternatively. Sometimes the only perceptible mark is a trembling of the hand, or a winking of the eyes, or a rapid dilation of the nostrils, or a slight creasing of the hairy skin, or an odd smile either fugitive or lasting and then almost inscrutable. The protrusion of the lips, or their contraction with discoloration of the mucus, sometimes replaces the smile. In some instances, the liar tosses his head; sometimes he watches for some sign of acquiescence; sometimes he fluctuates between boldness and confusion.

This diversity of physiologic manifestations of the mental state of lying demonstrates plainly that it involves an affective (emotional) condition. As William James has shown, affective phenomena consist essentially, from the physiological point of view, in a greater or less number of muscular and vasomotor reflexes, forming combinations so varied that any classification of the emotions is impossible. In the state of lying there are phenomena either of excitation or of depression or of the one alternating with the other.

Nevertheless, we must not confuse affective phenomena, strictly so-called, with the phenomena of expressive mimicry due to simulation and aimed at producing or increasing the confidence of a watching auditor. . . . For example, a liar may simulate laughter; and when the simulation is a poor one, we have the "forced laugh," in which only facial displacements occur without the expression of a true geniality; the lips are merely parted, the nasolabial furrow is bent convexly inward for most of its length, the creased skin radiates in wrinkles around the eyes towards the temples.

After allowing for these physiologic modifications which may accompany the lie without being an intrinsic mark of it, we may still concede that no intentional derogation from the truth can take place without a tendency to muscular contractions or expansions, - phenomena of inhibition or excitation. The reason for this must be sought in that cerebral physiology which is the basis for a psychological explanation of the lie.

Psychology of the lie. We have seen that the lie is either a positive, more or less complex invention, or a negative invention. But throughout all it includes an act of imagination. Lying invention shows all the species of imagination so well classified and described by Ribot in his great work on “The Creative Imagination.". . . There is the plastic imagination, the diffluent imagination, the mystical imagination, the scientific imagination, the practical imagination, the commercial imagination, the utopian imagination. We may safely assert a truism, to be sure, but a necessary one that all species of imagination may serve, not only to discover truths, but to invent lies. But what seems to be the peculiarity of imagination used in lying is that it can go to the length of completely negating the existence of the object in question. . . . In contrast with the other species, it alone can be

simply negative. In certain cases, then, we have inhibition, rather than production.

Among the neuromuscular phenomena characteristic of a psycho-physiologic lying state, we have often above noted acts of contradiction, of repression of incipient movements, in short, of inhibition. The liar must keep from expressing aloud his thought. He is not merely imagining; he is at the same moment conceiving something which he ought truly to express and something different which he is to succeed in suggesting to others. The process is thus more complex than in merely creative imagination. Now if there is any law of psychopathology that is well established by experiment or observation, it is this,' that every clear and living idea engenders the corresponding movement. Hence it must be conceded that a very clear mental representation of something which one ought to be telling-and it is very clear in many instances of derogation from the truth, and clearer in proportion as the sense of duty may be prompting obedience engenders a strong tendency to pronounce the suitable words and to make the gestures or postures naturally accompanying that thought. Thence occurs often a violent antagonism between this natural propensity and the other inclination (casual or habitual) to disguise the truth by affirming something different. Before this antagonism can attenuate to the point where dissimulation becomes easy, the habit of telling the thing contrary to what one ought to tell must have become a strong one. Hence we come to a distinction between the casual liar and the habitual liar, the liar who promptly confounds himself, and the tenacious liar who persists in his lie.

The casual liar may be a person having a vivid imagination or experiencing a lively emotion, who impulsively affirms or denies without precise reflection on his erroneous assertion and the distance between it and the truth. It is only when he receives some check that he definitely conceives the truth. Then he may either persist in his falsity, through vanity, pride, self-esteem, or shame; or may hasten to some other topic; or may recant. If he recants, one may perhaps detect slight symptoms of lack of frankness; if he hastens to leave the subject, he usually betrays himself by his precipitateness or worried air; if he persists, he tends to become the habitual liar and needs now a great power of inhibition.

With the tenacious liar, the lie is generally habitual. Fatigue, worry, uneasiness, recur as infrequently as the inhibition has been frequent. The physiological marks of lying are less apparent, the muscular contractions less forcible and particularly less spasmodic. He is more at home in supporting his assertions by a persuasive mimicry, facial expressions appropriate to frankness, smiles less false, intonations less artificial, etc. Mendacious invention here tends to free itself from almost all the shackles customarily provided by a consciousness of the truth.

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251. A. C. PLOWDEN. Grain or Chaff; the Autobiography of a Police Magistrate. (1903. p. 225.) . . . It would be unreasonable, however, to turn your eyes away altogether. Indeed, it is not possible to do it. You cannot watch a face too closely, provided you can trust yourself not to be led away by too hasty inferences. Much of the interest of my work I feel to lie in a close scrutiny of the human countenance, whether in the dock or the witness

1 See P. Janet, L'automatisme psychologique.

box. I make a mental note if a prisoner has abnormal ears. They are often significant. And if I am doubtful about a witness speaking the truth, I direct my attention to his mouth and to his hands. The mouth is perhaps the most expressive feature, and the hands of a liar are seldom at rest. But where I often think much is to be learned from a witness is after he has given his evidence and left the box. I continue to watch him as he sits unsuspectingly in his place in the court, while other witnesses, especially those that are opposed to him, are examined. The expressions that pass over his face on these occasions are often very instructive.

252. AMOS C. MILLER. Examination of Witnesses. (Illinois Law Review. 1907. Vol. II, p. 257.) It is, of course, of the greatest importance to be able to determine whether a witness is willfully falsifying or whether he is honestly mistaken. Of course, there are all degrees between an honest mistake and a willful lie. How to correctly measure the elements of this honesty in a witness's testimony is largely a matter of experience which each man is compelled to gain for himself. But there are a few suggestions which may be of assistance. A witness who is testifying falsely will, as a rule, try to evade, on cross-examination, questions on collateral matters; this, of course, in order to avoid the danger of being entrapped. He will frequently ask the cross-examiner to repeat plain, simple questions in order to give him a chance to think up a consistent reply. He will often carefully and slowly repeat over a question on cross-examination for the purpose of giving him time to think; or he will answer irresponsively in order to steer the crossexaminer off the track. I have also observed that the witness who is swearing to a clear-cut lie will, while so doing, throw back his head with an indifferent air and close his eyes or blink. My experience has taught me to believe that that is an almost certain sign of deliberate dishonesty.

Topic 2. Narration as affected by Interrogation and Suggestion

253. RICHARD HARRIS. Hints on Advocacy. (Amer. ed. 1892. p. 29). I. One of the most important branches of advocacy is the examination of a witness in chief.... One fact should be remembered to start with, and it is this: the witness whom he has to examine has probably a plain, straightforward story to tell, and that upon the telling it depends the belief or disbelief of the jury, and their consequent verdict. If it were to be told amid a social circle of friends, it would be narrated with more or less circumlocution and considerable exactness. But all the facts would come out; and that is the first thing to insure, if the case be, as I must all along assume it to be, an honest one. I have often known half a story told, and that the worst half, too, the rest having to be got out by the leader in reëxamination, if he have the opportunity. If the story were being told as I have suggested, in private, all the company would understand it, and if the narrator were known as a man of truth, all would believe him. It would require no advocate to elicit the facts or to confuse the dates; the events would flow pretty much in their natural order. Now change the audience; let the same man attempt to tell the same story in a court of justice. His first feeling is that he must not tell it in his own way. He is going to be examined upon it; he

is to have it dragged out of him piecemeal, disjointedly, by a series of questions in fact, he is to be interrupted at every point in a worse manner than if everybody in the room, one after another, had questioned him about what he was going to tell, instead of waiting till he had told it. It is not unlike a post mortem; only the witness is alive, and keenly sensitive to the painful operation. He knows that every word will be disputed, if not flatly contradicted. He has never had his veracity questioned, perhaps, but now it is very likely to be suggested that he is committing rank perjury.

This is pretty nearly the state of mind of many a witness, when for the first time he enters the box to be examined. In the first place, then, he is in the worst possible frame of mind to be examined—he is agitated, confused, and bewildered. Now put to examine him an agitated, confused, and bewildered young advocate, and you have got the worst of all elements together for the production of what is wanted, namely evidence. First of all, the man is asked his name, as if he were going to say his catechism, and much confusion there often is about that, the witness feeling that the judge is surprised, if not angry, at his not having a more agreeable one, or for having a name at all. He blushes, feels humiliated, but escaping a reprimand thinks he has got off remarkably well so far. Then he faces the young counsel, and wonders what he will be asked next.

Now the best thing the advocate can do under these circumstances is to remember that the witness has something to tell, and that but for him, the advocate, would probably tell it very well, "in his own way." The fewer interruptions, therefore, the better; and the fewer questions, the less questions will be needed. Watching should be the chief work; especially to see that the story be not confused with extraneous and irrelevant matter. . . The most useful questions for eliciting facts are the most commonplace, "What took place next?" being infinitely better than putting a question from the narrative in your brief, which leads the witness to contradict you. The interrogative "Yes?" as it asks nothing and yet everything is better than a rigmarole praise, such as, "Do you remember what the defendant did or said upon that?" The witness after such a question is generally puzzled, as if you were asking him a conundrum which is to be passed on to the next person after he has given it up.

Judges frequently rebuke juniors for putting a question in this form: "Do you remember the 29th of February last?" In the first place, it is not the day that has to be remembered at all, and whether the witness recollects it or not is immaterial. It is generally the facts that took place about that time you want deposed to, and if the date is at all material, you are putting the question in the worst possible form to get it. A witness so interrogated begins to wonder whether he remembers the day, or whether he does not, and becomes puzzled. We don't remember days. You might just as well ask if he remembers the 1st of May, 1816, the day on which he was born, instead of asking him the date of his birth. This is one of the commonest, and at the same time one of the stupidest blunders that can be made. I will, therefore, at the risk of repetition, give one more illustration. Suppose you ask a witness if he remembers the 10th of June, 1874; he probably does not, and both he and you are bewildered, and think you are at cross-purposes; but ask him if he was at Niagara in that year, and you will get the