Trust Me |
For some unknown reason, the subject of lying has received a lot of attention in the media. Sunday-morning TV pundits, late-night comics, newspaper columnists, and even Congressmen seem to have become obsessed with the subject. Since the readers of this column have no experience with fancy fabrication, and wouldn’t think of telling anyone anything but the full and absolute truth, as a public service this column will explain it all. The writer has no more experience with lying than his readers, therefore it was necessary to undertake an extensive research project.
The dictionary definition of lying is: making an untrue statement with intent to deceive. It is frowned upon and truth is encouraged in almost every society. Every American knows the story about George Washington and the cherry tree. Most of us learn the value of truth from our parents:
"Who knocked over the living-room lamp? Tell the truth and I won’t punish you."
"Suzie did it."
"I did not. Mikey did it."
Or, on those rare occasions when you and your sister happen to be on friendly terms, in unison: "The cat did it." Or the goldfish.
When you grow up, you learn that truth has many different shades of meaning. It’s not really lying if a beneficial purpose is served by a slight shading or imprecision in the statement of the facts. Especially if the beneficiary is yourself. But try not to shade the truth to such a degree that nobody recognizes it.
Let’s talk about The Law. The United States happens to have more lawsuits than any other country in the world, and in every lawsuit the story one side tells contradicts from that of the other side. Both sides, of course, are telling the truth, and the judge or jury decides whose truth is truer. No one is ever tried for perjury, because both sides are telling the truth. Nobody lies. Especially under oath. If the losing side lied under oath, each case would have to be tried twice – once as a civil case to decide who is telling the truth, then the losing side tried in a criminal case for perjury.
Nor do we lie in our daily lives, even though the truth may be inconvenient. Even if it is not in our own best interests, our conscience makes us tell the truth. That’s why, even though we may have our doubts, we should never question the veracity of statements like the following, because we know that they are not spoken with any intent to deceive:
"I swear I’ll respect you in the morning."
"No, your Honor, I certainly wasn’t speeding. I kept looking at my speedometer to make sure I wasn’t exceeding the speed limit. There may have been something wrong with the officer’s radar gun, or else he must have been pointing it as some other vehicle."
"Of course I came to a full stop at the sign. I always come to a full stop when I’m supposed to. The officer must have looked away just at the moment I stopped."
"I never made any verbal agreement to pay that much for the property. The witnesses did not accurately hear what I said. And the handshake was not intended to signify agreement to any deal. I was merely saying goodbye."
"Those were all legitimate business expenses. My wife came along to be my secretary and take notes."
"We shipped that item last week. UPS must have lost it. We’ll put a tracer on it immediately."
"I’m sorry, Senator, but I cannot swear I did not make that statement. There are so many things I never said, that I can’t remember all of them."
"Who, me? Never!"
A couple of years ago "The Bridges of Madison County" was a best-selling book and was later made into a hit movie that ranks high up in the record books for the volume of feminine tears that it produced. While her husband and children are away exhibiting a prize steer at the Illinois State Fair, an Iowa farm wife, Francesca Johnson, has a hot love affair with a photographer, Robert Kincaid (played by Clint Eastwood) who is on temporary assignment for the National Geographic to photograph covered bridges in Madison County. After four days, when Francesca’s husband and children are about to return, by mutual agreement Kincaid rides off into the sunset.
When her husband Robert gets home, he asks, "Anything interesting happen while we were away?"
And Francesca says, "Nothing much."
Who wouldn’t?