Mostly because it’s false, and I have a very powerful aversion to knowingly telling a falsehood (and to the general practice of doing the same).
I also hate to be lied to. I don’t like “white lies” and I refuse to tell them. If you ask me “Does this dress make me look fat?” I really will give you an honest answer—and I hope that other people will do me the same favor. If I didn’t want an honest answer, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.
Yes. (It probably comes from playing Ultima IV during my formative years.)
I do admit to being a “truth twister” though—I won’t tell false statements, but I am willing to omit relevant information, imply false conclusions, or simply refuse to answer awkward questions. (And yes, I agree that there is a certain degree of hypocrisy involved in this practice, but it serves as a reasonable workaround for my inability to lie the way other people seemingly have no trouble doing.)
This is ridiculous. A “truth twister”? This isn’t hypocrisy. This is lying. To yourself, mostly. Unless you live in a cave, you tell white lies every day. Ever say Good Afternoon when you didn’t feel like it?
This sort of moral highhorsing gets us nowhere. Stop it, please.
More than one of my doctors has patient notes saying not to ask me “How are you doing?” which I asked them not to do, because I dislike giving the standard nonanswer “Fine”, because sometimes I’m not actually fine.
I stopped lying, to the best of my ability, years ago. I’ve found, though, that as my lying skills have degraded, I have also partially lost the ability to consider my words before I speak and I have lost the knack for social pablum (although I may never have had that to begin with; tough to say).
When someone asks me how I am, I always answer “same as always.” I would like to say that I do it so that I don’t need to commit to a position with which I disagree, but the truth is that the words come out before I can figure out the normal, polite response.
Overall, I think that lying is a very valuable skill. Maybe it is like self-defense; something that you hope that you don’t have to use, but is always good to have available.
This is ridiculous. A “truth twister”? This isn’t hypocrisy. This is lying. To yourself, mostly.
I think I’m similar to CronoDAS in being a “truth twister”, but I don’t know the exact details of how much truth (s)he is willing to twist, so I’m not sure how similar we are.
Unless you live in a cave, you tell white lies every day. Ever say Good Afternoon when you didn’t feel like it?
I’d like to make a point here. When someone says “Good morning” to you and you reply “Good morning” back to them, the information you are communicating is that you are greeting them, not that you actually think this morning is a good morning or anything like that. So in this sense, I wouldn’t consider it a lie to say “Good morning” even if though the morning were particularly bad.
As I understand it, ‘Good morning!’ is short for ‘I wish you a good morning.’, not ‘I’m having a good morning.’. It’s not a lie if you’re in a bad mood, but it may be a lie if you say it to somebody that you dislike.
“A wizard may have subtle ways of telling the truth, and may keep the truth to himself, but if he says a thing the thing is as he says. For that is his mastery.”
-- A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Leguin
And in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, no one trusts the Aes Sedai, because after they vow to always tell the truth, they learn how to twist their words to get what they want anyway.
Someone who would tell the truth in a way that they knew would not convey the truth would not hold my trust.
The Aes Sedai have the advantage that Robert Jordan is writing books, and whenever he needs to demonstrate that Aes Sedai can capably mislead while telling the truth, he arranges the circumstances such that this is possible. In real life, seriously deceiving people about most topics on the fly—that is, in a live conversation—without making untrue statements is pretty hard, unless you’ve prepared ahead of time. It’s not impossible, but it’s hard enough that I would definitely have a higher baseline of belief in the words of someone who is committed to not telling literal lies.
Telling lies and discerning lies are both extremely important skills, becoming adept at it involves developing better and better cognitive models of other humans reactions and perspectives, a chess game of sorts. Human society elevates and rewards the most adept liars; CEOs, politicians, actors and sales people in general, you could perhaps say that Charisma is in essence mostly convincing lying. I take the approach with my children of punishing obvious lies, and explaining how they failed because I want them to get better at it, and punishing less or not at all when they have been sufficiently cunning about it.
For children I think the Santa deception is potentially a useful awakening point—a right of passage where they learn not to trust everything they are told, that deception and lies and uncertainty in the truth are a part of the adult world, and a little victory where they can get they get to feel like they have conquered an adult conspiracy. They rituals are also a fun interlude for them and the adults in the meantime.
As a wider policy I generally don’t think absolutism is a good style for parenting (in most things), there are shades of grey in almost everything, even if you are a hard-core rationalist in your beliefs, 99.9% of everyone you and your children deal with won’t be, and they need to be armed for that. Discussing the grey is an endless source of useful teachable moments.
Agreed on the first point, learning about lying is good. On the parenting bit, I’ll preface this by saying I don’t have kids but this seems like a great way to create a “dark rationalist”. I am not perfectly or near-perfectly honest, though I admire people who are and think it’s probably a good idea, but rewarding skilled lies as a training tool feels dangerous.
Neutral on the second point, Santa may in fact be a useful deception but I think there are associated downsides and I don’t feel strongly either way.
Absolutism can be useful because parents are supposed to be constants in their childrens’ lives, reliable and consistent. Absolute rules such as “I will not say literally false things to my child ever” build a lot of trust, implicit and explicit, especially when you have demonstrated your willingness to adhere to it in situations where you really really don’t want to. And parent-child trust is, anecdotally, by far the most influential factor on young adult happiness I have ever seen.
Simply because it’s false? Or because you aren’t convinced it leads to more rational adults? Or some other reason?
Mostly because it’s false, and I have a very powerful aversion to knowingly telling a falsehood (and to the general practice of doing the same).
I also hate to be lied to. I don’t like “white lies” and I refuse to tell them. If you ask me “Does this dress make me look fat?” I really will give you an honest answer—and I hope that other people will do me the same favor. If I didn’t want an honest answer, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.
Curious, are you proud of how difficult you find lying?
Yes. (It probably comes from playing Ultima IV during my formative years.)
I do admit to being a “truth twister” though—I won’t tell false statements, but I am willing to omit relevant information, imply false conclusions, or simply refuse to answer awkward questions. (And yes, I agree that there is a certain degree of hypocrisy involved in this practice, but it serves as a reasonable workaround for my inability to lie the way other people seemingly have no trouble doing.)
This is ridiculous. A “truth twister”? This isn’t hypocrisy. This is lying. To yourself, mostly. Unless you live in a cave, you tell white lies every day. Ever say Good Afternoon when you didn’t feel like it?
This sort of moral highhorsing gets us nowhere. Stop it, please.
More than one of my doctors has patient notes saying not to ask me “How are you doing?” which I asked them not to do, because I dislike giving the standard nonanswer “Fine”, because sometimes I’m not actually fine.
Crono, stay on that moral high horse!
I stopped lying, to the best of my ability, years ago. I’ve found, though, that as my lying skills have degraded, I have also partially lost the ability to consider my words before I speak and I have lost the knack for social pablum (although I may never have had that to begin with; tough to say).
When someone asks me how I am, I always answer “same as always.” I would like to say that I do it so that I don’t need to commit to a position with which I disagree, but the truth is that the words come out before I can figure out the normal, polite response.
Overall, I think that lying is a very valuable skill. Maybe it is like self-defense; something that you hope that you don’t have to use, but is always good to have available.
Saying you’re “Fine” to a doctor, when you are not, would be a little foolish, would it not? As opposed to your standard workaday white lies.
I think I’m similar to CronoDAS in being a “truth twister”, but I don’t know the exact details of how much truth (s)he is willing to twist, so I’m not sure how similar we are.
I’d like to make a point here. When someone says “Good morning” to you and you reply “Good morning” back to them, the information you are communicating is that you are greeting them, not that you actually think this morning is a good morning or anything like that. So in this sense, I wouldn’t consider it a lie to say “Good morning” even if though the morning were particularly bad.
As I understand it, ‘Good morning!’ is short for ‘I wish you a good morning.’, not ‘I’m having a good morning.’. It’s not a lie if you’re in a bad mood, but it may be a lie if you say it to somebody that you dislike.
“This isn’t hypocrisy. This is lying.”
Lying is making a false statement with the intent to deceive. Refusing to make a statement isn’t lying unless silence is itself a statement.
Deception, now, is a different matter. All of the things CronoDAS mentioned are certainly deceptive, but they’re not lying.
Okay.
It seems to me that with a complicit surrounding culture, you could get the full “santa experience” without telling any explicit lies.
“Daddy, how does Santa do X?”
“Well, some people think Y—do you think that’s a good explanation?”
and then patiently wait for the day Y is rejected as nonsense.
“A wizard may have subtle ways of telling the truth, and may keep the truth to himself, but if he says a thing the thing is as he says. For that is his mastery.” -- A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Leguin
And in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, no one trusts the Aes Sedai, because after they vow to always tell the truth, they learn how to twist their words to get what they want anyway.
Someone who would tell the truth in a way that they knew would not convey the truth would not hold my trust.
The Aes Sedai have the advantage that Robert Jordan is writing books, and whenever he needs to demonstrate that Aes Sedai can capably mislead while telling the truth, he arranges the circumstances such that this is possible. In real life, seriously deceiving people about most topics on the fly—that is, in a live conversation—without making untrue statements is pretty hard, unless you’ve prepared ahead of time. It’s not impossible, but it’s hard enough that I would definitely have a higher baseline of belief in the words of someone who is committed to not telling literal lies.
Telling lies and discerning lies are both extremely important skills, becoming adept at it involves developing better and better cognitive models of other humans reactions and perspectives, a chess game of sorts. Human society elevates and rewards the most adept liars; CEOs, politicians, actors and sales people in general, you could perhaps say that Charisma is in essence mostly convincing lying. I take the approach with my children of punishing obvious lies, and explaining how they failed because I want them to get better at it, and punishing less or not at all when they have been sufficiently cunning about it.
For children I think the Santa deception is potentially a useful awakening point—a right of passage where they learn not to trust everything they are told, that deception and lies and uncertainty in the truth are a part of the adult world, and a little victory where they can get they get to feel like they have conquered an adult conspiracy. They rituals are also a fun interlude for them and the adults in the meantime.
As a wider policy I generally don’t think absolutism is a good style for parenting (in most things), there are shades of grey in almost everything, even if you are a hard-core rationalist in your beliefs, 99.9% of everyone you and your children deal with won’t be, and they need to be armed for that. Discussing the grey is an endless source of useful teachable moments.
Agreed on the first point, learning about lying is good. On the parenting bit, I’ll preface this by saying I don’t have kids but this seems like a great way to create a “dark rationalist”. I am not perfectly or near-perfectly honest, though I admire people who are and think it’s probably a good idea, but rewarding skilled lies as a training tool feels dangerous.
Neutral on the second point, Santa may in fact be a useful deception but I think there are associated downsides and I don’t feel strongly either way.
Absolutism can be useful because parents are supposed to be constants in their childrens’ lives, reliable and consistent. Absolute rules such as “I will not say literally false things to my child ever” build a lot of trust, implicit and explicit, especially when you have demonstrated your willingness to adhere to it in situations where you really really don’t want to. And parent-child trust is, anecdotally, by far the most influential factor on young adult happiness I have ever seen.