By Qarol Price
Sorry to disappoint you if you thought by the title that I’d be dispensing tips for how to get away with lying. Forgive me for trying to be a little provocative.
Though I do know that I risk offending some who might jump to conclusions by thinking I may be an advocate for relaxing the standards on truth-telling; I rather hope it will be the readers with a more curious bent who will bare with me as I riff on some thoughts about Johnston County Public School’s character trait of the month – honesty.
I want to explore honesty’s connection with truth. Truth, especially the capital “T” sort, is worth a good ponder. It’s the kind of thing we former philosophy majors never stop mulling over in our geekish little minds. Obviously, Truth is not something you can touch, smell or collect in a jar. It’s one of those invisible things called a concept which we all seem to have a notion of, but nailing down its precise meaning is a bit tricky to say the least. One thing is for sure, we don’t all agree on “what is Truth.”
Sticking to the truth, small “t,” is the business of honesty. If someone asks you, “What did you have for breakfast this morning?” and you say, “Avocado toast;” but in fact, you really had a Grand Slam breakfast at Denny’s, then clearly, you are not telling the truth. You are lying! (Unless of course you had amnesia…but we don’t need to get into the weeds with this.) Small “t” truth is more easily verifiable. When something is either true or false and nothing in between.
By now you are probably asking, “So why exactly did you decide to name your essay, ‘Loopholes for Lying’ if you didn’t really mean it? Are you lying?”
Good question, astute reader! Allow me to riddle you this, “When can lying tell the truth best?” Answer: When it’s telling stories.
But how is it that stories are both a lie and the truth? (Oh, I do love a good paradox!)
Stories are made up from whole cloth, they are fabricated. Just like lies! There is something called poetic license which is practically permission to lie. Writers privilege, if you will. Storytellers help us to enter a poetic portal where the rules of reality have changed because there is a loophole in the Matrix.
Mythology demonstrates this notion by presenting truths through allegory, symbolism, and narrative embellishment rather than through literal factual accuracy. But it gets real complicated if ancient stories are confused with actual history. Our Philosopher Historians are all over this one. But if we are honest, we would be too.
For instance, there is a story about George Washington as a small boy. It seems his dad had ordered him not to fool with their prize cherry tree, but Georgie had a new hatchet he was just dying to try out! And that cherry tree was standing there smugly daring the lad to take a good whack at it! Wouldn’t you know it? He did! He was a very bad boy.
But that’s not the end of the story. His dad soon visited the crime scene. It didn’t take long to discover the culprit. When confronted, the future general and president confessed his guilt: “I cannot tell a lie. I did it.” I’m guessing this embarrassing admission saved him from a spanking, a good deed canceling out a bad one. And thus the story of his disobedience turned into a beloved story of his good character!
Here’s the kicker: it never happened! Washington’s earliest biographer, Mason Locke Weems, made it up! But it wasn’t exactly a lie, since it was a vehicle to convey an important truth! It’s the same with parables and myths. And that’s the truth!
Next month: Loyalty
