Ah, lying, the existential mystery that has overwhelmed philosophers, theologians, and mothers of five-year-olds alike. To lie, or not to lie, that’s the question. Or is it? What if the question is, “Why on earth wouldn’t you lie?”
Now before you grab your moral pitchforks, allow me to clarify. I am not advocating for a world where people lie through their teeth willy-nilly. Oh no, that would be disastrous! Or, would it? See, that’s the fun of living in the gray area of morality. But for the sake of argument, let’s see what happens if we occasionally step off our pedestals of truth and dive headfirst into a pool of, let’s say, ‘alternative facts’.
Let’s start with a purely hypothetical scenario. Let’s say there’s a man named Larry. Larry is a good, honest man, the kind who can’t tell a lie even if his life depended on it. Larry’s wife, let’s call her Karen, buys a new dress. She tries it on and asks Larry, “Do I look fat in this?”
Ah, the age-old question, the Mount Everest of husbandly diplomacy. Larry, in his relentless pursuit of truth, says, “Well, it does highlight your…er…curves a bit more than usual.”
Karen, who’s been dieting and exercising religiously for the past month, doesn’t take it too well. Larry is sentenced to a week of silent treatment and a month of sleeping on the couch. Could a little white lie have saved Larry’s back from the harsh couch springs? Maybe.
But hold on. Here comes the chorus of well-intentioned moralists, “But the truth is always the right path.” Yes, yes, we all remember the wisdom of our primary school teachers. But, come on, are you telling me you’ve never tasted the sweet allure of a well-placed lie?
Don’t believe me? Let’s stroll down memory lane, shall we? Remember that time when you told your boss you were “sick” so you could get an extra day to finish binge-watching your favorite show? “But I did have a fever,” you say. Sure, you did. It’s called “Netflix fever”, and we’re all guilty of that affliction.
Or how about that time you told your friend their home-cooked meal was “delicious” even though it tasted like cardboard marinated in sadness? Yes, there’s something to be said for the truth, but there’s also something to be said for not having to eat your friend’s cooking ever again.
Now, you’re probably thinking, “Wait, doesn’t lying have consequences?” Of course, it does. Let’s take a look at our friend Larry again. Let’s say he decides to venture into the dark side and lie occasionally, like when Karen asks about her new haircut that, to be honest, makes her look like she lost a fight with a lawn mower.
“Lovely as always, darling,” Larry lies smoothly. Karen is thrilled. Larry is off the hook. Life is good. Until Larry’s lies get bigger, like when he forgets their anniversary and tells Karen he has planned a surprise when in reality, he’s got zilch. He scrambles, books a last-minute, overpriced dinner at a pretentious French restaurant that neither of them likes. Larry’s credit card is weeping, but hey, at least he’s not caught, right?
But remember, the universe has a twisted sense of humor. One day, Larry runs into their neighbor at the supermarket who, unaware of Larry’s web of lies, spills the beans. “Larry, you lucky devil, heard you pulled a rabbit out of your hat with that last-minute reservation at Chez WalletBuster on your anniversary, impressive!” The jig is up. Karen’s not thrilled. Not thrilled at all.
Larry’s in the doghouse now, even worse than the post-dress fiasco. His credit card is still in therapy, and he’s kicked out of their king-size bed to the measly, lumpy couch, again.
Oh, Larry, if only there was a moral to this story… Wait, there is! And it’s not as simple as “Never lie.” Or the equally banal, “Always tell the truth.”
Perhaps it’s more along the lines of, “Don’t forget your anniversary, you chump!” But in all seriousness, it’s probably something about moderation and wisdom. Like a fine wine, lying requires a certain skill, a sophisticated palate for knowing when it’s acceptable and when it’s not. You wouldn’t serve wine at a kid’s birthday party, much like you wouldn’t tell your boss you’re having a root canal when you’re actually at a baseball game, especially if your boss is in the VIP box at the same game.
But what about when your child draws you a picture, proudly presenting their scribbled mess as a “dinosaur”? Are you going to crush their little hearts and critique the anatomical inaccuracies? Of course not! You’re going to praise that modern-art masterpiece like you’re a judge on an art show.
So, let’s address the question again, “Is it always wrong to lie?” Well, if your intentions are to hurt, manipulate, or deceive for selfish gains, then you bet your sweet potato it’s wrong! But if it’s a choice between a small fib and crushing someone’s spirit, or between an innocent lie and ruining a dinner party, or indeed, between a minor deception and suffering the wrath of an anniversary-forgetting aftermath, then I’d say the jury’s still out.
Remember, this advice comes without a money-back guarantee. It’s more of a proceed-at-your-own-risk kind of deal. Use your judgment, your empathy, and for the love of all that’s holy, use your calendar reminders, especially if your memory rivals that of a goldfish like our friend Larry.
Remember, a world without lies would be as dull as a dinner party without wine. Or, a world full of lies would be as chaotic as a kindergarten full of caffeine-fuelled toddlers. As the philosophers would say, “Virtue lies in the middle,” and who are we to argue with those toga-wearing ancients?
In the end, lying is a lot like cooking. A pinch of salt can enhance the flavor, but pour in the whole box and you’ve ruined a perfectly good meal. So, my dear truth-benders, lie responsibly, lie sparingly, and, for the love of all things good and decent in this world, if your spouse asks you if they look fat, for pity’s sake, just say, “No, darling, you look perfect.”
Because in the grand, complicated court of life and morality, a little white lie might just save you from a month of uncomfortable couch-nights. After all, isn’t the phrase ‘happy wife, happy life’ based on a foundation of tiny, harmless, ego-boosting fibs? Perhaps it’s better to say, ‘Happy spouse, peaceful house.’ There’s some food for thought served with a side dish of humor.
