" I am a man of principle, and I glory in the name.”
Mr Pecksniff in Charles Chuzzelwit
Charles Dickens

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The
World According to Pecksniff
On Self-Absorption and Its Everyday Disguises
The above quote from Mr Pecksniff is a character who portrays himself as the very essence of virtue the kind of person who walks into a room and instantly becomes the
sun, everything must orbit around him. We know people like that. At first, you might not notice. They smile
broadly, speak warmly, and often carry a moral vocabulary that feels
reassuring. But linger long enough and something begins to curdle. Their virtue
is performative, their kindness self-congratulatory, and their interest in
others as fleeting as a ripple in a mirror.
In
my life, I’ve encountered many such figures, some in positions of religious
authority, others in the everyday world of work or family. And each time I’ve
struggled to name what I was experiencing; it was literature that gave me the
vocabulary. Specifically, Charles Dickens gave me Pecksniff.
Ah,
Pecksniff! Dickens’s most gloriously hypocritical creation. In Martin
Chuzzlewit, Mr. Pecksniff is a self-proclaimed moralist, a paragon of
virtue in his own mind. He lectures on goodness, extols self-denial, and oozes
piety like syrup on a cold plate. But beneath this surface of sanctity lies
greed, manipulation, and a hunger for status that he cloaks in sentimental
phrases. If hypocrisy had a mascot, it would be he.
Reading
about Pecksniff was like suddenly putting on glasses and seeing certain people
in my past with vivid clarity. The syrupy self-praise, the inability to truly
listen, the way their goodness always required an audience, it was all there. I
began to recognize the traits not only in others but in society’s broader
patterns, and, if I’m honest, I had to check my own heart for the same seeds.
One
of the most telling signs of self-absorption is a lack of empathy. A
truly self-absorbed person cannot sit with another’s sorrow without shifting
the attention back to themselves. They might feign concern, "Oh dear, that
reminds me of when I had it even worse"—but it's all a performance.
Like Pecksniff, who sheds tears for show but is incapable of genuine
compassion, they mimic empathy while lacking its substance.
Then
there is the need for validation. I’ve watched people pursue praise like
it were oxygen, needing constant affirmation of their worth, intelligence, or
virtue. They share their good deeds publicly, not to encourage others, but to
soak in the applause. It reminds me of Jesus's warning in Matthew 6—not to
sound trumpets when giving to the needy, as the Pharisees did. Dickens’s
Pecksniff, too, cannot do a single thing without somehow narrating it as a
testament to his own nobility.
Conversation-hogging is another mark. A self-absorbed
person can’t abide silence unless they are filling it. You start to share
something meaningful, and they interrupt with “That reminds me of when I…”
Suddenly, you’re no longer part of the dialogue—you’re just a prop in their
monologue.
Then
there’s entitlement—a quiet assumption that the world owes them
something. At worst, it becomes domineering: interrupting, overriding,
expecting favours without the faintest inclination to return them. It’s masked
well. Often these people wear a humble expression, quote scripture, and speak
of love, all while subtly climbing over others to secure their own advantage.
Defensiveness is another red flag. If
challenged, even gently, they twist the narrative or cast themselves as the
victim. In Dickens’s portrayal, when Pecksniff is called out, he gasps in holy
outrage—how dare anyone question his motives! It is spiritual gaslighting at
its finest.
And
then there’s the obsession with image. They care deeply about how they
appear, not about who they are. Every conversation is an opportunity to curate
a persona: humble, wise, enlightened, kind. But like the whitewashed tombs
Jesus spoke of, it’s all exterior polish.
In
real life, this can show up in subtle but exhausting ways. The person who never
asks about your life. The “friend” who disappears when you’re in need but
expects a cheering section for their minor struggles. The one who can’t hear no
without punishing you emotionally. Or the religious leader who uses morality as
a tool to control rather than liberate. And, of course, the social media
saint—always preaching, always posting, always conspicuously good.
Over
time, you begin to see that self-absorption is not just narcissism in a
mirror, but a spiritual condition. It is the slow suffocation of empathy.
It is the inverse of love, which “is not proud… is not self-seeking.”
The
antidote isn’t to hate such people. It’s to name the behaviour, guard your
soul, and model something better. Boundaries are not unkind. Silence, when
someone demands your attention for the wrong reasons, is not cruelty. And real
humility—not the sweetened, stage-lit kind—is the deepest form of strength.
Pecksniff
is a warning, not just a character. And Dickens, in his brilliance, didn’t
create him to condemn others alone. He created him to make us look in the
mirror and ask: Where have I worn that mask?
“Let us be moral. Let us contemplate existence. Let us find out what it means, and let us be men of moral elevation and character.”
Pecksniff’s lofty rhetoric is almost always undermined by his behaviour. This quote is classic Pecksniff: vague, moral-sounding, and completely empty.