2-12-05

Words

I don't lie.  Let me rephrase:  To the best of my knowledge, I don't lie.  I added that caveat because that helps prevent the claim from being a lie.  You see, there was a time—a sad, stupid time—when it would be charitable to describe my relationship with the truth as casual.  It is highly possible that I am a recovering pathological liar.  I'm not a psychologist, so I honestly couldn't say, but for as long as I can remember, I have had to remind myself of the truth (assuming I wanted to tell it, which, these days, I do). I have also had to pepper my speech with disclaimers and caveats; this often leads people to believe that I am uncommitted to an action.  The truth is, I don't even want the appearance of a lie, so I disclaim in order to account for those things of which I am unsure or which I can't control.  When I say, "I'll probably do x" I generally mean "barring catastrophic incident, I will do x"; what people seem to hear, however, is "if I feel like it, I will do x".
          I bring this up to be sure people understand that I am not merely a moral Luddite bemoaning the loss of the value of words in the Information Age.  There is a very practical reason that I don't lie;  it's the same reason that recovering alcoholics don't ever drink.  For me, there is no white lie, because each lie, no matter how small leads to the next.  It's a slippery slope.
          I do have a deeply spiritual reason for not lying (any more), however.  I have long believed that my family name is important, but not because it's mine.  My family name is a rental.  I have borrowed it from my parents for the specific purpose of handing it off to my daughter.  It is the most precious heirloom in the world.  How can I say I love my daughter if I hand off a sullied rag and call it an heirloom quilt?
          So, okay, I'm not totally a Luddite.  And yet, here I am about to bemoan careless words.  Here I am, embarking on a nostalgic journey to a time when words were as important as actions (this was probably never true...nostalgia has a way of plastering over the holes in the past).  I believe they are.  Words ARE actions, and they have far-reaching impact like any action of consequence.

Say Nothing
At one time, I believed that scrupulous honesty required complete candor.  Wow, was that a mistake.  People who are completely candid, who tell the whole truth, cause as many problems as inveterate liars.  The whole truth is not necessary, nor is it necessarily wanted.  As long as you tell nothing but the truth, you are being honest and honorable.
          Of course, there are those who will say, "But CN, what of the Lie of Omission?  Doesn't that mean that honesty requires absolute candor?"  No, it doesn't.  First off, there's no such thing as a "Lie of Omission;" the phrase is "Sin of Omission," and it very specifically applies to an omission that causes hardship or harm to another.  If I sell you a car and "forget" to mention that it has no brakes and the steering wheel only works on alternate Wednesdays, I am committing a sin of omission.  If a Karaoke singer asks me how he did and I say "it was good" (meaning I liked the song he chose despite the fact that his voice sounded like a cat scratching its claws across a chalkboard because it was being dragged backwards through broken glass) and don't proceed to critique the quality of his singing, I am merely being polite.  If a man has a one-nighter in Des Moines because he was lonely and homesick, it is not incumbent on him to immediately confess to his wife; that level of candor is just a selfish act meant to assuage his own guilt, and can only hurt his wife.
          So in many instances, in my view, it is best to either say nothing at all, or to say something very general and go no further.  "The brakes and steering need a little work."  "It was good; that's one of my favorite songs."  "Des Moines was interesting, but I got homesick and missed you more than I could describe."  You see?  Truth without candor.  Learn it.  Use it.  Make it your friend.

"Sorry" is Such an Easy Thing to Say
When my first marriage was crashing into smoking ruins, my then-wife said, at one point, "Stop saying, 'I'm sorry.'  It doesn't mean anything when you say it."  She was right. I'd do something or say something cruel, and then I'd say "I'm sorry" expecting it to be all better.  Then I'd do it again, later.
          The thing is, nine times out of ten, an apology must be accompanied by a sincere effort to alter ones own behavior to be valid.  In most cases, unless you amend the apology with a limiting phrase, you are implicitly promising to try not to indulge in the offending behavior again.  Sometimes, lately, it's not even an apology, it's an introduction to an excuse.  "I'm sorry, but..."  Be honest, if you're excusing your actions, you're not really sorry, are you?
          There are, of course, times when "I'm sorry" has to stand, not as an apology, but as an expression of remorse or empathy.  This is a complex world and there are often times when our choices are limited, and we are forced to cause offense or perceived hardship when we don't want to, or we do so without knowing (to be honest, there are people who take it as a personal affront when the wind changes direction), and all we can do is express our regrets.  Even so, it seems to me that it might be best if we evaluate how we got there, and maybe take steps to prevent a recurrence if we can.

I guess what I'm saying is that we should all be more aware of our words.  Not just the effect they have, but also how they bind us and how they affect our own actions.  It seems to me that, more and more, our words are just wind.  The phrase "actions speak louder than words" implies that lies are expected.  I think that sucks.