Ethics Truth

When can I lie?

Is it ever permissible to lie? The answer is 'never', but there is a range of circumstances in which it is permissible to make statements which on the surface appear to be a lie. For example, a confessor who is asked whether he knows something which he has learnt only through the confessional may reply 'no', meaning 'not in such a way that I can reveal it'. Here, 'no' takes on an unusual meaning because of a special fact about the role of the speaker; namely that he is a priest bound by the seal of the confessional. In other cases, the speaker's statement acquires an added meaning because of moral facts about the interlocutor - usually that the interlocutor is engaged in dishonourable conduct, or is asking unjust or only partially just questions.

How Truth connects to Justice and Honour

Truth-telling is a socially useful institution, but so is the preservation of secrets, especially from those who would put the information to evil use. Equivocation is justified whenever a man has no duty to tell the truth. For instance, a defendant in a court of law could equivocate if the judge questions him on matters where are immaterial to the case at hand. The accused is bound to reply only according to the intention which an upright, fair and just judge should have. This principle is commonly illustrated by the example of a traveller who, on arriving at the gates of a city, is asked by the guards whether he has come from some particular town which they believe to be infected by the plague. If he confesses that he has come from that town, the guards will not admit him for fear he has the plague. He has a duty to satisfy the guards that his admission will not jeopardise the health and safety of their city. The traveller, knowing that there is no plague in that town, may answer that he has not, for the materiality of the guards' intention is whether he has come from a town with plague. Now, if the traveller has come from a town beset by plague, but he believes that he has not contracted the disease, he may not answer that he has not unless he has the healing skills to make such a diagnosis. What the guards really want to know, and have the authority to ask is whether the traveller is carrying plague; and he must answer that question as best he can within the authority of his role - in this case, it is for a healer to decide whether he carries the plague. If the traveller is satisfied that he is not carrying plague, and has the authority to make such a judgement, then he may reply 'no', as given the circumstances this reply was ambiguous, but in the sense that the guards intended the question, truthful.

Two ways have been explored to explain why the defendant's 'not guilty' and the traveller's 'no' are not lies. The first is that in the circumstances, and according to certain publically accepted linguistic conventions, such statements could simply be true. If the speaker means his statement in the sense in which it was true, he does not lie, even if he intends it to be understood in the sense in which it was false. The limits of permissible ambiguity are circumscribed by these conventions. "Although a man who is unjustly questioned is not bound to answer according to the [unjust] intention of the questioner" wrote Pedro de Arragon, "he is bound, in concealing what he wants to keep secret, to use words which are true in some sense accepted by the common people, or by the wise, for if he does not do so, he lies, which is never permissible". Note that there must be a virtuous reason for the speaker to appeal to permissible ambiguity - in this case, it is the unjust nature of the questioning, but it can be the speaker's role that allows him to make a ruling on what may be revealed (i.e. a confessor on moral issues, or healer on medical issues), or the circumstances of the questioning that are dishonourable.

A second approach is to argue that the confessor's 'no' is truthful because he construes it as meaning 'no, except under the seal of confession, which I may not break'. If the confessor understands 'no' to mean 'in no way whatsoever', his statement will be a lie, as one cannot speak against one's own mind. So to prevent a deceptive and ambiguous statement which the speaker believes to be true in only one of its senses from being a lie, it is necessary both that he understands it in the sense in which he believes it to be true, and that this is a socially acceptable interpretation of his words. In short, a statement is a lie if the speaker believes that what it means is false, with its range of permissible meanings constrained by public conventions. Mental reservations can therefore never make an untruthful statement truthful, merely an ambiguous statement truthful, and only if the mental reservations are heartfelt and just.

A consequence of this second line is that a man's ability to avoid lying while at the same time preventing injustice can depend on such factors as whether an appropriate ambiguity is available, and whether the speaker has the linguistic skills needed to utilise it. Dexterity at punning can become a social virtue, if combined with the knowledge of justice and honour to utilise it only at appropriate times.

If the unjust questioner suspects that she has received an equivocal and misleading answer, she might ask another question couched in terms intended to avoid further ambiguous responses. Having run out of ambiguous replies, a speaker may once again be faced with their original dilemma. Both silence and the truth will cause injustice, but lying is forbidden. To solve this problem, some casuists have taken the momentous step of claiming that a false statement can be made true by the addition of further clauses stated mentally but not uttered. Not only ambiguous statements, but any statement whatsoever, could become truthful if the speaker makes careful use of this perilous principle. It renders the concept of lying virtually redundant, for any sophist can wiggle their way out of the boldest lie direct. In general, this approach is unacceptable. However, if the additional mental clauses are of appropriate moral or social conventions that are accepted by the common people, or by the wise, then this approach may be used in extremis.

For example, suppose a man has been waylaid by a thief, and, not satisfied with the ill-gotten gain, she compels him to swear an oath promising to pay her a certain additional amount of money at a specified time and place. The man is not bound to pay the money unless he feels indebted to the thief, for one justly speaks the words of such an oath only as part of a convention of indebtedness. Here, society as a whole, and not the speaker, has mentally added some clause such as 'provided that I am indebted to you for that amount of money'. Unless the speaker was truly thankful for his life being spared, and felt he was in debt to the thief, the oath was empty, for its content was against both social convention and the intention of the speaker.

Language is a means of communication instituted to further social intercourse. It was not provided to encourage the performance of unjust actions. If a murderer asks me whether I am giving refuse to her intended victim, I have no duty to tell her anything at all. However, if I choose to engage in social intercourse, I have a duty to tell the truth so long as it does not lead to injustice. It is sometimes said that if I have no duty to answer a murderer, I have no duty to answer her in his language - if I choose, I may make noises which she takes to be words but to which I attach an altogether different significance; or I may speak to myself as if she were not there, and allow her to take what meaning she will from my words. This simple sophistry is wrong. Although it is not a direct lie to use words in your own private sense in common conversation, is it nevertheless a sin of omission against the precept of the virtue truthfulness, and a violation of the means of communication. If I am fearful, I may choose to commit a lesser vice of lying rather than allow a greater injustice to occur, but I will have still failed to be virtuous.

Special thanks to Edmund Leites and his book "Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe".

The Seven Degrees of Giving the Lie

While this perhaps belongs best in an etiquette (or duelling) manual, it is useful to know that there are at least seven degrees of accusing someone of lying, with each being more blunt than the last:

• The Retort Courteous: "My opinion is otherwise".
• The Quip Modest "I prefer it this way".
• The Reply Churlish: "You are no judge; your opinion is worthless".
• The Reproof Valiant: "You know that is not true".
  • This is the outer limit that can be made between friends and equals without inevitable bloodshed or dishonour.
• The Countercheck Quarrelsome: "How dare you say such a thing!".
  • Only fishwives will raise their voice at this point; gentlemen should be calmly reviewing their duelling schedule.
• The Lie Circumstantial is: "If anyone says such-and-such, he lies."
  • This gives your opponent their last, dishonourable, sniveling, cowardly opportunity to evade your wrath. It is the least you can do.
• The Lie Direct is simply "You lie".
  • This is the last sentence to be exchanged between two people before one bleeds - further conversation must occur between their seconds.