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Aristotle, Augustine, Canada, Edward Feser, Frits Staal, Immanuel Kant, nonhuman animals, Plato, United States, Vedas
Edward Feser has a fascinating post up on the ethics of lying. Feser, perhaps not surprisingly to his regular readers, follows Augustine in taking up a position in some respects even more extreme than Kant’s: a lie is always wrong, and a lie by omission – like Aśvatthāma the elephant – is just as much a lie.
Not agreeing with Feser’s Augustinian presuppositions, I also don’t agree with his conclusions. I do think that some unambiguous lies can be right because of their consequences, at the very least in extreme cases like the murderer at the door who asks you whether you’re sheltering his next victim (to which Feser refers, as did Kant). But that’s not what’s interesting about Feser’s post, nor is it his point (at least, not directly). Rather, he’s asking what a lie actually is. For him this question is vital because it directly implies which behaviours with respect to the truth are ever permitted and which are not. But it’s still an essential question for those of us who believe that there is something merely bad about all lying, even if that badness can on occasion be outweighed by other factors. Which speech acts possess that intrinsic badness?
Feser says many profound and interesting things in response to this question, but I was particularly struck by one of the first, on pleasantries, and I’m going to spend today’s post riffing on that point. According to Feser, it is not a lie to say “I’m fine, thanks” in reply to “how are you?” when you are not feeling fine, for in such a context “I’m fine, thanks” does not actually mean that you are feeling fine or doing well.
Only in such a context can one make sense of what I have found perhaps the most annoying behaviour of Massachusetts natives: the habit of responding to the phrase “Hi, how are you doing?” with another “Hi, how are you doing?” Such a response would never be uttered by an Ontarian in response to another Ontarian, any more than they would say “Can you tell me how to get to the bank?” in response to “Can you tell me how to get to the bank?” (In my experience, this has also been true of most of the rest of the English-speaking world.) I have always believed that “How are you doing?” is an actual question, and therefore merits an actual response. So, in recent years when I have been convinced of the vital importance of truth-telling, if I am not feeling well I have tried to respond to this question with a shrug and a “meh” – or a similar response that implies that, while I am not feeling particularly well at the moment, it’s not a particularly big deal and the questioner should feel no obligation to distract herself with concern about it.
Feser’s approach, while intended to explain away a pleasantry that is in some sense false, also helps explain pleasantries like the Massachusetts greeting that are literally nonsensical. In Massachusetts, the phrase “how are you?” does not mean anything more than “hello,” and people are occasionally startled when the question receives an answer. The words themselves have no semantic meaning at all.
I’m reminded here of Frits Staal‘s study of Vedic sacrifices and recitation. It has long been noted that many Indians in history (including some still alive) have been able to recite all the words of the Vedas without knowing a single word of the Sanskrit language in which they were composed. Staal used his study of Vedic practitioners to argue against those who searched for an intellectual meaning to every ritual, especially to ritual words like mantras, magic spells. He would claim that many rituals are “rules without meaning” – comparing them and the words spoken in them, instructively, to birdsong. (Insert a joke about Twitter here if you wish.)
If we think of pleasantries as analogous to birdsong, I think we learn something important about them – and we do not necessarily diminish these activities for doing so. Since Aristotle it has been a commonplace that human beings are rational animals – and the “animal” is often just as important as the “rational.” We have a need for wordless reassurance, just like our pets.
One might even apply the term more generally to all the kinds of human behaviours that Confucians call “rites” (li 禮) – patterns of interpersonal behaviour sanctioned by tradition, from solemn ceremonies like weddings and funerals to polite gestures like pleasantries. If we think of pleasantries and other speech rites like birdsong in this way, we return to something like the performance theory of ritual that I had criticized in this post: analyzing spoken words in terms of what they do rather than what they mean. But as I later noted, my earlier criticism was too harsh: many rites should be thought of in terms of what they do rather than what they mean, but we should be clear to include our own rites among these. And here it’s worth noting that this applies to rites that consist solely of words, such as “How are you doing?”. Sometimes, we mean what we say. Sometimes, we just chirp it.
Speaking of rites, I don’t expect to post on Sunday, because I’ll likely be busy with festivities for American Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!
A quick look at Feser’s piece on lying provoked these thoughts:
1. He is wrong in thinking that a lie “needn’t be communicated in words”. It is commonplace that lies are utterances or statements. It is bizarre to claim that someone lied if it is also true that he or she didn’t so much as utter a word! Feser is here conflating lying and deception which he seeks to distinguish in the subsequent paragraph. Obviously, we can engage in deception without recourse to utterances or statements.
2. Feser is also mistaken in thinking that one can lie without engaging in deception. His own definition of lying – communicating P when one believes or thinks (I would say “knows”!) not P – is at odds with his claim that one can lie without engaging in deception. Again, it is commonplace that lying is a form of deception.
3. There is also the issue of sincerity. It would be worthwhile to explore the relation between lying and insincerity. If they are different, how are they different?
Of course, we can define terms in different ways. However, defining lying as being restricted to statements seems overly narrow. Obviously, a nod of the head can be a lie. And the distinction between lying and deception (setting aside self-deception) is a very fine distinction.
The key issue in terms of the negative effect of lying on the deceiver (I deliberately avoid terms of “morality” or “immorality” here), depends on motivation. If lying or deception is based on a pure motive, it will tend to have much lesser negative effect. Motivation also governs the effect on the actor of making “true” statements that are intended to harm others. So, hurtful or disparaging remarks that are accurate in some cases may have a more harmful effect than a lie told with good intentions.
And a lie told with both a motivation and effect of helping others (such as in the murderer at the door example) can be a genuinely helpful and positive act. This is why morality as a rigid code of conduct can sometimes be unhelpful.
I am not sympathetic to attempts to change the established meaning of a word in order to sound “original” in philoosphy. When someone tells you that they were lied to, you immediately understand that a false statement or utterance was made to them.
A nod of the head can be a deceptive behavior. What distinguishes a lie from deception is the fact that lies are utterances or statements whereas deception can be non-verbal. If non-verbal behaviors can also be “lies”, then there is no basis to distinguish between deception and lying.
“A nod of the head can be a deceptive behavior. What distinguishes a lie from deception is the fact that lies are utterances or statements whereas deception can be non-verbal.”
What counts as “verbal” then? Is it impossible to lie in American Sign Language – can sign language include only deception and not lies? No words are spoken – but symbols are exchanged that express clearly defined concepts, just as a nod of the head does among speakers of standard English.
Suppose I answer your question in the affirmative. What then?
“Verbal”, by definition, is confined to words. Signs and words can both be used to communicate, but this doesn’t make them identical.
I agree that truth-telling can be hurtful or harmful in some cases, but ought we to consider whether lying in those cases would have produced greater harm than truth-telling? If so, this puts us squarely in the consequentialist alley.
The appeal to motivation to defend an act of lying is very problematic given the difficulties in ascertaining motives. How do you know that my lie was motivated by benevolence and not self-interest? What about mixed motives?
“If lying or deception is based on a pure motive, it will tend to have much lesser negative effect.”
I don’t think a good effect or “lesser negative effect” will naturally result from a “pure motive”. The universe doesn’t seem to be interested in sustaining those sorts of causal links between good intentions and good effects. Aren’t some of the roads to hell paved with good intentions? LOL
Motives are knowable. That is what meditation is about (or ordinary introspection for that matter). This is not to say that we can’t have self-delusion. But if we are confused about our motives, we have motives nevertheless.
In terms of the harmful effects of actions with selfish or impure motives, I was speaking primarily about the effect on the actor. Actions motivated by compassion (for example) will have either a good effect or a lesser negative effect on the actor than the same action motivated by aggression (for example).
This is, of course, a Buddhist insight. But it is not exclusively Buddhist. Our English legal system, for example, considers motivation or mens rea in determining the severity of a crime. Killing someone with an automobile will be considered more or less severe of a crime if the perpetrator is grossly negligent but not intending to kill the victim, intending to kill the victim but caught in the grip of strong passion or emotion, or deliberately and “cold bloodedly” commiting murder.
4. We mistake sincerity for truth-telling. One can be sincere and yet completely deluded! E.g., Jesus telling his disciples that they will witness “Judgment Day” in their lifetime. He was not lying to them although he led them to share his delusional belief. Is sincerity in the service of a delusion more harmful than lying?