My mother told me, with absolute conviction, that
you should always tell the truth. My mother along with hundreds of thousands of
other mothers, delivered that message to their offspring, fully convinced that
they were doing the rock solid Right Thing by their offspring.
But, would you give that
advice to your children now? Well, maybe most parents would, when children are
very young but later, when the offspring are in their teens, surely it would be
better to warn your offspring that, quite frequently, to lie is the best course
of action, especially where people’s feelings are involved.
The Truth is a subjective
concept. This notion struck me when, as a teenager, and in the sixth form, a
friend began to describe a night out she and I had had. As she talked I
listened in disbelief, wondering if I had actually lost my mind and had not,
after all, been there with her. As she continued, employing superlatives every
other word, she looked at me as if to say, why are you not joining in my
report? I smiled, pathetically and realized that she was in fact, being
sincere. So, out of some sort of loyalty for our friendship, I gradually became
more animated and joined in, adding phrases such as, ‘Yes, it was great, really
good,’ and ‘Can’t wait to go there again.’
The truth, at least, my
truth, was that the night was OK, but nothing much more. It was not even pretty
good - it was just OK. My friend had either never experienced the joy of a good
night out, or her expectations were set very low. Another possibility could be
that I was a profoundly unsatisfied person, nothing was ever good enough for me
and I should be more appreciative of the social opportunities that came my way.
The concept of truth is a
very important one; one upon which the principles of law depend. The jury, all
twelve who are signed in, are instructed that they must find the truth. The prosecution and the defence must do
likewise. A mistake can lead to a wrongful conviction; or a guilty person walking
free.
In my twenties I had a friend who was one of
the most generous people I have ever known. She told me of her family
background, her wealthy parents, the boarding school she attended until the age
of sixteen and the horses she had owned and loved.
Later, I discovered, by means
of a mutual friend, that this life that she had constructed for herself was pure fiction. She lived in council house in Stockport with her mum
and disabled sister. She was a persistent credit card fraudster and a shoplifter,
which might have explained her generosity. The thing is though, that without
her horses and general ‘romancing’ a euphemism for lying, I would have liked her
just as much, if not more, because I would have felt empathy for her real
situation whereas I was rather in awe of the horses and the boarding school. It
saddens me to think that she felt she had to invent and embellish in this way,
for us to like her.
