The Ways We Lie
an essay by Stephanie Ericsson
The bank called today, and I told them my deposit was in the mail, even though I hadn't written a check yet. It'd been a rough day. The baby I'm pregnant with decided to do aerobics on my lungs for two hours, our three-year-old daughter painted the living-room couch with lipstick, the IRS put me on hold for an hour, and I was late to a business meeting because I was tired.
I told my client that traffic had been bad. When my partner came home, his haggard face told me his day hadn't gone any better than mine, so when he asked, "How was your day?" I said, "Oh, fine," knowing that one more straw might break his back. A friend called and wanted to take me to lunch. I said I was busy. Four lies in the course of a day, none of which I felt the least bit guilty about.
We lie. We all do. We exaggerate, we minimize, we avoid confrontation, we spare people's feelings, we conveniently forget, we keep secrets, we justify lying to the big-guy institutions. Like most people, I indulge in small falsehoods and still think of myself as an honest person. Sure I lie, but it doesn't hurt anything. Or does it?
I once tried going a whole week without telling a lie, and it was paralyzing. I discovered that telling the truth all the time is nearly impossible. It means living with some serious consequences: The bank charges me $60 in overdraft fees, my partner keels over when I tell him about my travails, my client fires me for telling her I didn't feel like being on time, and my friend takes it personally when I say I'm not hungry. There must be some merit to lying.
But if I justify lying, what makes me any different from slick politicians or the corporate robbers who raided the S&.L industry? Saying it's okay to lie one way and not another is hedging. I cannot seem to escape the voice deep inside me that tells me: When someone lies, someone loses.
What far-reaching consequences will I, or others, pay as a result of my lie? Will someone's trust be destroyed? Will someone else pay my penance because I ducked out? We must consider the meaning of our actions. Deception, lies, capital crimes, and misdemeanors all carry meanings. Webster's definition of lie is specific:
: a false statement or action especially made with the intent to deceive;
: anything that gives or is meant to give a false impression.
A definition like this implies that there are many, many ways to tell a lie. Here are just a few.
The White Lie
A man who won't lie to a woman has very little consideration for her feelings. — Bergen Evans
The white lie assumes that the truth will cause more damage than a simple, harmless untruth. Telling a friend he looks great when he looks like hell can be based on a decision that the friend needs a compliment more than a frank opinion. But, in effect, it is the liar deciding what is best for the lied to. Ultimately, it is a vote of no confidence. It is an act of subtle
First, in Ericcson’s piece, carefully focus on repetition,
informal/colloquial language, logical fallacies (red
herring), quotations, allusions, and tone. Second,
reflect on your notes and thoughts; think aloud on paper;
reconsider your notes; ask questions; and think about your
thinking.
arrogance for anyone to decide what is best for someone else.
Yet not all circumstances are quite so cut-and-dried. Take, for
instance, the sergeant in Vietnam who knew one of his men was killed in
action but listed him as missing so that the man's family would receive
indefinite compensation instead of the lump-sum pittance the military gives
widows and children. His intent was honorable. Yet for twenty years this
family kept their hopes alive, unable to move on to a new life.