Ethical dilemma: Would you lie? - Sarah Stroud
Your plan to set up your friend Carey
with your acquaintance Emerson
is finally coming together.
Both individuals have heard
all about each other
and they’re eager to meet for dinner.
You’ve just made them
a reservation for Friday night,
and you’re about to text Carey
the details
when an unsettling thought
crosses your mind:
Carey is always late.
And not just by 5 minutes;
we’re talking 20 or even 30 minutes late.
Carey seems to view punctuality
as an oppressive relic of an earlier era.
But what if you told them dinner
was at 6 instead of 6:30?
That way, they would almost certainly
arrive on time.
You really want this relationship
to work, so... should you lie?
Take a moment to think: what you would do?
Maybe you should lie!
You think this new relationship
could be great for Carey,
and you don’t want them to ruin it
before it’s even begun.
Sure, Emerson may eventually learn
about their chronic lateness.
But if Carey shows up on time
just this once,
the relationship will at least
have a chance to take root.
Your lie would pave the way
for a potentially happy relationship.
And if taking an action will create
a better outcome for everyone involved,
that’s normally a pretty good reason
to take it.
But isn't it morally wrong to lie?
The absolutist position on lying,
associated with German philosopher
Immanuel Kant,
holds that lying is always immoral,
regardless of the circumstances.
In other words, there’s a moral rule
which forbids lying,
and that rule is absolute.
You might think, though,
that this stance overstates
the moral importance of lying.
Suppose a murderer were hunting
Carey down.
If the killer asked you
about Carey’s whereabouts,
it seems odd to say
that you must tell the truth
at the cost of your friend’s life.
From this perspective,
absolutism seems too rigid.
By contrast, utilitarian philosopher
John Stuart Mill
would say lying is wrong only when it
leads to less happiness overall.
Now, to be fair, most lies do seem likely
to create unhappiness.
Someone who accepts a lie believes
something which is false,
and trying to conduct your life
on the basis of false information
doesn’t usually go well.
However, in some circumstances,
perhaps including your situation,
lying might produce
more happiness overall.
In those cases, utilitarians say
it’s not morally wrong to lie.
In fact, it might even be
your moral duty to do so.
But if absolutism seems too extreme,
you might feel this stance is too lax.
In other words, perhaps the utilitarian
position understates
the moral significance of lying.
Most people generally feel some regret
about lying,
even when they believe
it’s the right thing to do.
This suggests there’s something
inherently objectionable about lying—
even when it leads to more happiness.
In this case, lying to Carey would be
an instance of Paternalism.
Paternalism is interfering
with another person’s choices
for that person's benefit.
This might be fine if that person
is a literal child.
But it seems disrespectful
to treat a peer paternalistically.
Lying to Carey would mean
taking away their opportunity
to handle the situation as they see fit,
based on their own beliefs and values.
Trying to protect Carey
from what you consider
to be a bad choice would show
a lack of respect for their autonomy.
By extension, it might also be
disrespectful towards Emerson,
since you would be deliberately trying
to give him a false impression
of Carey’s punctuality.
So how do you weigh potential happiness
against guaranteed disrespect?
Followers of Kant would say
treating others with respect
is the heart of moral conduct,
while followers of Mill would say
nothing is more important than happiness.
But other philosophers believe
that such conflicts can only be resolved
on a case-by-case basis,
depending on various details
and on the individuals involved.
So what will you do in Carey’s case?
