For the last several moons, I can say without hyperbole that my dance card has been thoroughly and consistently full. I’m still not entirely sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I will say, as someone who never dated much, that it has provided me with valuable and occasionally terrifying insight into the human condition. Dating... how can I put this? Dating really blows. But there is one thing (among many other things, I assure you) that really provokes me on a first date--one recurring statement, or variation thereof, that really chaps me every time it is casually uttered, and it is casually uttered every time, without fail.
“I am an honest person.”
Now, as a realist, I find that this is the world’s most pervasive lie. Ironically, this statement has the opposite effect on me than the one intended, i.e., I will immediately distrust you. That is because this statement, once uttered, tells me one of two things about the person uttering it: 1) they are clearly lying as the statement is categorically false and they think I'm dumb/naive/gullible enough to believe the contrary, or 2) they are dull enough to actually believe it themselves, which in effect is worse, because lying to oneself is the worst kind of deception.
A story:
I had a very old aunt that, by all accounts, was a saint. She was an ordained minister, actually. One of the first in the country, in fact. She spent most of the 1930’s as a missionary bringing the light of God’s shiny happy love to the dark, antipodal regions of the globe's outer crust. And while I won’t get into a philosophical discussion of whether or not this was inherently good or bad, I will say that she was the purest example of uncorrupted Christian virtue that these eyes will ever see—a true, un-hypocritical, compassionate believer who taught by example and not with preachy words. In all my years of knowing her (which was about the first 25 years of my life—no kidding, she was OLD), I had never so much as heard her a) swear, b) complain, c) speak ill of anyone even in jest, d) take the lord’s name in vain. I'm telling you, the woman was a fucking saint.
Anyway, one Thanksgiving, my mother thought she would try something new and absurd and used orange soda in our turkey gravy. Why? This I will never, ever understand. I mean, it was purely awful. However, she served it with dinner, and every one started quietly retching into their napkins. Except for my aunt. My aunt coughed a little behind her napkin, eyes welling up ever so slightly, and—I will never forget this—she remarked that it was good.
Good!
My aunt lied.
I know why she lied, of course. She wanted to avoid committing the far worse crimes of b and c. However, this story illustrates my point.
Lying, my friends, is a necessary component to social interaction and everybody does it. To say that it is a necessary evil is to ascribe morality to something that is fundamentally amoral. Now you can use the intentions behind the lies or the circumstances in which they are employed to determine whether or not it is a moral or immoral action, but lying in general is merely a useful social tool. No more, no less. Lies are almost entirely employed to protect a person’s perceived interests, which can sometimes (shockingly) be altruistic. In short, everyone lies. Sometimes, even out of necessity.
Then can someone actually be considered honest? Of course, you idiot. The determination of honesty can be found in the ratio of instances when the truth is employed to the instances when lies are told, compared to a regional and cultural baseline average. Essentially, you are graded on a curve and no one ever, ever gets an A+.
Long story short, next time you are on a date, rather than lie right off the bat, try these more accurate statements instead: “I aspire to be as honest as possible, as often as I am allowed”, “I lie sometimes depending on the circumstances, but not pathologically so”, “I am truthful more than intentionally misleading or deceptive”, or “yes I fib, but only after I have adequately assessed the situation and deemed it necessary to fib in order to mitigate damage and protect the interests of everyone involved.”
Now, if my aunt had been particularly shrewd, she might have exclaimed “good gravy!” which would have saved her bacon all together.
