I think most reasonable folks would agree that lying is not a good thing. However, I doubt that any of us have gotten through life without at least telling one lie. Right? I also think that there are exceptions when lying is understood and acceptable. Maybe even kind. For example when someone with dementia asks about their mother or father, family member, or close friend who has died in the past: I recall my father, who died with dementia, asking about one of his friends who was gone. I told him when he asked that his friend had passed away. Dad cried. The next visit he asked how his friend was doing. I hesitated, then told him his friend was getting older but was doing okay. Dad smiled.
Okay. I just lied. The next time Dad asked, I again told him that his friend had passed away, I lied to you because I didn’t want to come across as a smug know-it-all. And also to make my point a little more pertinent: Repeating that interaction over and over again would have gotten the same response from Dad. How do I know this? Because I did repeat it a few more times before I realized how unkind–cruel even–that was for Dad. So…I Iied, and Dad was okay with that. You can see where this would have gone if I had continued to beat him up with the truth.
So, the truth is important not just on important matters, but even on a humane personal level. Except there are exceptions; and when in doubt I suggest err on the side of compassion. But beware the truth will prevail. One way or another it will come back on you, therefore consider your lie carefully, humanely, and with compassion.
We are in a difficult time. Our world as we knew it is standing on its head. And rather than preach about this topic to you I will refer you to a far more credible and eloquent source who’s established himself as a philosopher as well the prominent scientist of our lifetime:
“Lying destroys confidence in the statements of other people. Without such confidence, social cooperation is made impossible or at least difficult. Such cooperation, however, is essential to make human life possible and tolerable. This means that the rule ‘Thou shall not lie’ has been traced back to the demands: ‘Human life shall be preserved.’ and ‘Pain and sorrow shall be lessened as much as possible.’ ” ~Albert Einstein, Out of my Later Years, Philosophical Library, New York, 1950.
I don’t know if aging necessarily leads to some degree of wisdom. Recent events would lead me to believe not. Still, aging to the place of a gray-haired senior does at least allow for (if you’re willing to venture there) evaluating one’s life experiences: good and bad, and drawing some conclusions from your life. In writing Entangled a sort of memoir, I’ve struggled with decisions about what to include and not include, I’ve engaged with a depth of emotions that challenged my judgement to the point that the book almost didn’t get published. It’s been sitting on my laptop awaiting a decision. Leaving stuff out of the book forced me to consider what that meant, is that a form of lying? Who would know? Me. I would know. In the end I’m the one who will have to deal with anything that may not make it into print, but I also know that compassion was my measure. This includes both Janis and myself as well as some other persons, some who will know who they are and will know what was left out. I am not apologetic for the story. I will say that the text as it is written is my honest effort for truth. Whatever I have left out was determined by my compassion for us–Janis and myself and our sincere love for one another, our marriage–I married my friend.
Any extreme is suspect for hurt and danger. Any extreme, even compassion. But, when in doubt err on the side of compassion–caritas, unconditional love and caring will be easier to forgive.
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