CHAPTER XIX

TRUTHFULNESS AND ITS PROBLEMS

Sins of untruthfulness are not so seductive or, usually, so serious as those we have been considering; but for that reason they are perhaps more pervasive - we are less on our guard against them. What are the reasons for the obligation of truthfulness? Truthfulness means trustworthiness. The organization of society could not be maintained without mutual confidence. This general need and the specific harm done to the individual lied to, if he is thereby misled, are sufficiently plain.[Footnote: I will content myself with quoting one sentence from Mill (Utilitarianism, chap.

II), warning the reader to take a deep breath before he plunges in: "Inasmuch as the cultivation in ourselves of a sensitive feeling on the subject of veracity is one of the most useful, and the enfeeblement of that feeling one of the most hurtful, things to which our conduct can be instrumental; and inasmuch as any, even unintentional, deviation from truth does that much towards weakening the trustworthiness of human assertion, which is not only the principal support of all present social well-being, but the insufficiency of which does more than any one [other] thing that can be named to keep back civilization, virtue, everything on which human happiness on the largest scale depends, - we feel that the violation, for a present advantage, of a rule of such transcendent expediency, is not expedient, and that he who, for the sake of a convenience to himself or to some other individual, does what depends on him to deprive mankind of the good, and inflict upon them the evil, involved in the greater or less reliance which they can place in each others' words, acts the part of one of their worst enemies."] The evil resulting to the man who lies is less generally recognized.

We may summarize it under three heads:

(1) It is much simpler and less worrisome, usually, to tell the truth. A lie is apt to be scantly on our guard; and one lie is very likely to need propping by others. We are led easily into deep waters, and discover "what a tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive." But when we tell the truth, we have no need to remember what we said; there is a carefree heartiness about the life that is open and aboveboard that the liar, unless he has given up trying to maintain a reputation, never knows.

(2) Lying is usually a SYMPTOM - of selfishness, vanity, greed, slovenliness, or some other vicious tendency which a man cannot afford to tolerate. Refusing to give vent in speech to these undesirable states of mind helps to atrophy them, while every expression of them insures them a deeper hold. Untruthfulness is the great ally of all forms of dishonesty; and strict scruples against lying make it much easier to clear them from the soul. This is the best vantage point from which to attack the half-conscious egotism which seeks to create a false impression of one's virtues or powers, the insidiously growing avarice that instinctively overvalues goods for sale and disparages what is offered. It is a good vantage point from which to attack carelessness, inaccuracy, and negligence; the man who has trained himself to precision of speech, who is painstakingly honest in his statements, who qualifies and discriminates, and hits the bull's eye in his descriptions of fact, can be pretty safely depended upon to do things rightly as well.

The selfish lie is never justifiable, because selfishness is never justifiable; the cowardly lie - "lying out of" unpleasant consequences - is wrong, because cowardice is wrong. To banish the symptoms may not wholly banish the underlying causes, but it is one good way to go about it. At least, the lies are danger signals.

(3) The habit of lying is very easily acquired; and the habitual liar is sure, sooner or later, to be caught and to be despised. He has forfeited the confidence of men and will find it almost impossible to regain it or to win a position of trust. If one must lie, then, it pays to lie boldly, as a definite and authorized exception to one's general rule; in this way one may keep from sliding unawares into the habit. All equivocations and dissimulations, all literal truths that are really deceptions, all attempts to salve one's own conscience by making one's statements true "in a sense," and yet gain the advantage of an out-and- out lie, are miserable make-shifts and utterly demoralizing. There is "not much in a truthfulness which is only phrase-deep." Whether we deceive others or no, we cannot afford to deceive ourselves; we should never deviate a hair's breadth from the truth without acknowledging the deviation to ourselves as a necessary but unfortunate evil. A man may say nothing but what is true, and yet intentionally give a wrong impression; "truth in spirit, not truth to the letter, is the true veracity." "A lie may be told by a truth, or a truth conveyed by a lie.

" "A man may have sat in a room for hours and not opened his teeth, and yet come out of that room a disloyal friend or a vile calumniator."[Footnote: Stevenson, Virginibus Puerisque, chap. IV.] If a man lies deliberately and regretfully, for an end that seems to him to require it, he may be making a mistake; but he is escaping the worst danger of lying. He is not corrupting his soul, blurring his vision of the line between sincerity and insincerity, and numbing his conscience so that presently he will lie as a matter of course - and be universally distrusted. All of this is very clear, and sufficiently explains our ideal of veracity. But it is not enough for moralists to dwell upon the general necessity of truthfulness; the problems connected therewith arise when one asks, Are there not legitimate or even obligatory exceptions to the rule? Except for a few theorists who are more attracted by unity and simplicity than by the concrete complexities of life, practically all agree that there are occasions when lying is necessary, occasions when the confidence of men would not be destroyed by a lie because of the clearly exceptional nature of the case.

Can we lay down any useful rules in the matter, indicating what types of cases require untruthfulness? What exceptions are allowable to the duty of truthfulness? Love undoubtedly sometimes requires, and oftener still excuses, a lie.

(1) There are the trite cases where by misinformation a prospective murderer is misled and his potential victim saved;[Footnote: Cf.the somewhat similar situation in Victor Hugo's Les Miserables (Fantine, last chapter) where Soeur Simplice lies to Javert about Jean Valjean. Hugo applauds the lie perhaps too extravagantly ("O sainte fille! que ce mensonge vous soit compte dans le paradis!"); but few probably would condemn it. Another interesting case is that of a French girl in the days of the Commune. On her way to execution her fiance tried to interfere; but she, realizing that if he were known to be her lover he would likewise be executed, looked coldly upon him and said, "Sir, I never knew you!"] where a sick man, who would have less chance of recovery if he realized his dangerous condition, is cheered and carried over the critical point by loving deception; where a theater catches fire and a disastrous panic is averted by a statement to the audience that one of the actors has fallen ill, and the performance must be ended.

In such cases it is foolish to talk of the possibility of evasion; it is direct misstatement that is necessary to prevent the great evil that knowledge, or even suspicion of the truth, might entail. Truthfulness under such circumstances, or even the taking of a chance by attempting to effect deception without literal untruth, would be brutal and inexcusable. As Saleeby puts it, "When the choice is between being a liar or a brute, only brutal people can tell the truth or hesitate to lie - and that right roundly.[Footnote: Ethics, p.103.] In such cases the public, including the very people deceived (except the murderer, who deserves no consideration), applaud the lie; no lack of confidence is engendered. Other cases, less commonly discussed, are equally clear. A mother has just lost a son whom she has idealized and believed to be pure; his classmates know him to have been a rake. If she asks them about his character, will not all feel called upon to deceive her, and leave her in her bereavement at least free from that worst sting?

When a timid woman or a sensitive child is alarmed, say, for example, at sea in a fog, will not a considerate companion reiterate assurance that there is little or no danger, even when he himself believes the risk may be great? When a man is asked about some matter which he has promised to keep secret, if the attempt to evade the question in the nature of the case is practically a letting-out of the secret, there seems sometimes to be hardly an alternative to lying. Mrs. Gerould puts it thus: "A question put by some one who has no right to the information demanded, deserves no truth. If a casual gossip should ask me whether my unmarried great-aunt lived beyond her means, I should feel justified in saying that she did not although it might be the private family scandal that she did. There are inquiries which are a sort of moral burglary" [Footnote: In the Atlantic essay referred to at the end of this chapter. The unassigned quotations following are from that paper, which I am particularly glad to commend after rather curtly criticizing that other essay of hers in the preceding chapter.]

(2) In regard to the little lies which form a part of the conventions of polite society, there may be difference of opinion. Their aim is to obviate hurting people's feelings, to oil the wheels of social misled by them. When asked by one's hostess if one likes what is apparently the only dish provided, or if one has had enough when one is really still hungry, the average courteous man will murmur a gallant falsehood. What harm can be done thereby, and why cause her useless embarrassment?" We simply have to be polite as our race and clime understand politeness, and no one except a naive is really going to take this sort of thing seriously." To thank a stupid hostess for the pleasure she has not given, is loving one's neighbor as one's self." I know only one person whom I could count on not to indulge herself in these conventional falsehoods, and she has never been able, so far as I know, to keep a friend. The habit of literal truth-telling, frankly, is self-indulgence of the worst." In some circles, at least, the phrase "not at home" is generally understood as a politer form of "not seeing visitors." It must be admitted, however, that there is danger in these courteous untruths.

If the visitor does not understand the "not at home" in the conventional sense, she may be deeply hurt and lose her trust in her friend, if she by chance discovers her to have been in the house at the time. Nor is it always wise to truckle to sensibilities that may be foolish; blunt truthfulness, even if unpalatable, is often in the end the best service. There are cases where untruthfulness is shirking one's duty, just as there are cases where truthfulness is mean or brutal.

To tell what we honestly think of a person, or his work, may mean to discourage him and invite demoralization or failure; to attribute virtues or powers to him which he actually does not possess may be to foster those virtues or powers in him. Or the reverse may be the case; his individual need may be of frank criticism or rebuke. The concrete decision can only be reached by following the guidance of the law of kindness, the Apostle's counsel of "speaking truth in love."

(3) In this connection it may be well to go further and emphasize the fact that there are many cases, not necessitating a lie, where the truth is not to be thrust at people." Friend, though thy soul should burn thee, yet be still. Thoughts were not meant for strife, nor tongues for swords, He that sees clear is gentlest of his words, And that's not truth that hath the heart to kill." There are usually pleasant enough things that one CAN say - though one may be hard put to it; and if the truth must be told, it may often be sugarcoated. President Hadley, when a young man, was receiving instructions for a delicate negotiation." If the issue is forced upon us," he interrupted, "there is, I think, nothing to do but to tell the truth." "Even then," replied his chief, "not butt end foremost." Cases of religious disbelief will occur to every one. While all hypocrisy and truckling to the majority opinion is ignoble, the blunt announcement of disbelief may do much more harm than good. Truth is not the only ideal; men live by their beliefs, and one who cannot accept a doctrine which is precious and inspiring to others should think twice before helping to destroy it.

Not only may he, after all, be in the wrong, or but half right; even if he is wholly right, it may not be wise to thrust his truth upon those whom it may discourage or morally paralyze.[Footnote: On the ethics of outspokenness in religious matters, see H. Sidgwick, Practical Ethics, chap. VI; J. S. Mill, Inaugural Address at St. Andrews; Matthew Arnold, Prefaces to Literature and Dogma and God and the Bible F. Paulsen, System of Ethics, book III, Chap. XI, sec.10.] In what directions are our standards of truthfulness low? Truthfulness in private affairs averages fairly high in our times. Many people will, indeed, lie about the age of a child for the sake of paying the half- fare rate, use the return half of a round-trip ticket sold only for the original purchaser's use, or look unconcernedly out of the window if they think the conductor will pass them by without collecting fare. Certain forms of such oral or tacit lying are so common that people of looser standards adopt them with the excuse that "every one does it," or that "the company can afford to lose it." But in more public matters the prevalence of untruthfulness is much more shocking.

Standards are low or unformulated, and it is often extremely difficult for the honorable man to know what to do; strict truthfulness would deprive him of his position. We may barely hint at some of these situations.