Is it ever justifiable to lie?

By Phil Lawler ( bio - articles - email ) | Mar 16, 2011

The bold pro-life activists of Live Action have been spectacularly successful in unmasking Planned Parenthood, and demonstrating how the world’s leading abortion provider shows its cool indifference to the welfare of young women. But the group’s unusual tactics—arranging ‘sting’ operations using false identities and hidden cameras—has produced another interesting benefit. For the past month, we have seen a lively debate among moralists on the question of whether it is ever justifiable to lie.

Arriving late to the debate, I want to make two things clear at the outset:

First, the success of the Live Action campaign does not necessarily mean that the group’s tactics are justified. A good end does not justify the use of immoral means. Thus it is not an adequate response to say that if Live Action operatives had not misled Planned Parenthood staffers, they would not have been able to expose that organization’s corruption. If the means were immoral, it would have been better not to employ them, regardless of the outcome.

Second, some critics of Live Action’s tactics have impeccable pro-life credentials. It is unfair to suggest (as, I fear, some Catholic Culture readers have suggested) that the moralists might think differently if they were actively engaged in the pro-life cause. Few Americans have done more for that cause than Robert George, to name one example. Yet George has argued that the Live Action tactics are unjustifiable.

Like others who take a similar view, George argues that it is always wrong to lie. If that is the case—if misleading someone is inherently wrong—then the circumstances are largely irrelevant. The end cannot justify the means. If there are no exceptions to the rule that it’s wrong to tell a lie, the argument is over.

Moreover, the belief that lying is always and intrinsically wrong has some formidable proponents. St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas advanced that view. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (2485) teaches: “By its very nature, lying is to be condemned.”

But if a lie is always wrong, what exactly is a lie? Are there times when it is permissible to deceive people—when a deception is not a lie? The Catechism (2482) defines the term: “A lie consists in speaking a falsehood with the intention of deceiving.” Then, to clarify further, the Catechism (2483) says: “To lie is to speak or act against the truth in order to lead someone into error.”

At this point the argument seems almost overwhelming. Live Action did intend to deceive the Planned Parenthood staff members. If lying “by nature” is condemned, is there any way to avoid condemning the Live Action tactics?

There may be. The original edition of the Catechism had provided a slightly different definition of lying: “To lie is to speak or act against the truth in order to lead into error someone who has the right to know the truth.” [emphasis added] The highlighted phrase was edited out of the final, authoritative version of the Catechism.

Of course, the fact that the Catechism is authoritative does not mean that its wording is perfect. A loyal Catholic might argue that the original wording was preferable, and certainly the exclusion of that critical phrase from the final edition does not mean that the original statement was wrong. Still, it is easy to understand why Church leaders would want to tighten the definition, eliminating a tempting justification for falsehood. If I am already inclined to tell a lie, I will very likely be inclined to rationalize that the person to whom I am lying does not deserve the truth.

Still the loophole implied by the original wording of the Catechism definition seems to match a common-sense moral judgment that many—if not most—people would make. Even when I am not tempted to lie, when my own interests are not at stake—when I am, in fact, sitting at my desk trying to frame this argument—I can readily see circumstances in which a lie seems easily justifiable.

Many of those involved in the debate about Live Action tactics have brought up the same example: You are a member of a Dutch family, hiding Jews from the Nazi extermination campaign during World War II. The Gestapo come to your door, and ask if there are any Jews inside. Are you justified in saying No? I think so; I think most people will agree.

Hadley Arkes has drawn the same point further. If you always object to lies and deception, you cannot approve of spying or police undercover operations. Indeed, Arkes argues, you should not serve in public office if you feel compelled to tell the unvarnished truth under all circumstances.

Janet Smith (a moral theologian who has earned an enviable reputation for defending Catholic teachings even in the “tough cases”) has asked whether there is a distinction to be made: whether there are some circumstances in which deception is morally justifiable. Those who do evil should not expect that we will be fully candid with them, she suggests—in what appears to be a variation on the theme of the original Catechism definition. Perhaps, she writes, by making that distinction explicit, we can clarify and develop the teaching of the Church.

Peter Kreeft adds another perspective, noting that the critics of Live Action’s tactics rely on abstract moral reasoning, whereas our natural sense—our moral intuition—points in a different direction. The lessons of experience must be taken into account, he argues, just as surely as the lessons of logic.

Building on that point, let me observe that most people tolerate and even applaud deception in some cases—not only under extreme circumstances (such as the sheltering of Jews from Nazis), but even in everyday life. We accept “little white lies” for comparatively frivolous reasons, and feel no pangs of conscience about them. Even St. Augustine, whose position on this question is as rigorous as anyone’s, allowed that lies are not immoral when they are told as jokes. Someone listening to a joke is not deceived, so there is no offense against truth. But consider these cases, in which there the intent to deceive is unmistakable:

• An attractive teenage girl tells a male classmate that she would like to accompany him to the dance, but unfortunately she is busy. The truth is that she finds him revolting and would be embarrassed to be seen in his company; she spares him that truth.
• A clumsy guest knocks a vase off your table, shattering it. You tell him not to worry, that the vase is a cheap old thing. Actually it is a beloved family heirloom, but you are a genial host, and want to set your guest at ease.
• A neighbor invites you to dinner, and serves unpalatable food. You choke it down, smile, and announce that you are enjoying it.
• You plan a surprise party for your spouse. When the day comes, you say that you need help picking up a few things from a friend’s house—where dozens of people are hiding behind the door, ready to shout: “Happy Birthday!”

In each of these cases, telling the truth would have caused only some mild discomfort. Yet most of us, I feel sure, would applaud the deceptions. Why? Are we really slaves to social convention, so that we would rather be “nice” than uphold the truth? I think not. I think another factor is at work here.

The above cases do not represent weighty moral problems, I admit. But for that very reason, they cast some doubt (in my mind, at least) on the proposition that deception is always morally wrong. If there are no justifiable exceptions to the rule against lying, why are we, in practice, willing to make exceptions—to justify what would seem unjustifiable—for such trivial reasons? If, on the other hand, there are exceptions to the rule—if there are times when deception is justified—then Janet Smith is right, and there are more distinctions to be made. I do not know how to make those distinctions; I leave that to more qualified moralists. But I feel sure there are distinctions to be made.