Dishonesty
“The
moral world has no particular objection to vice, but an insuperable
repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name.”
William
Makepeace Thackeray (Vanity Fair)
I'm
reading a novel by Anne Lamott, Crooked Little Heart. It is
the story of Rosie, a ranked tennis player, who gets so caught up in
winning, that when she's losing, she resorts to cheating. Being a
young teenager, she is already miserable about life's inequities, but
thinks herself alone in the world of dishonesty. She's “a cheater,”
the worst possible thing one can be, and when people find out, they
will hate her. As the book unfolds, we learn the vastness of
deceit—all the many and myriad ways it occurs, and how widespread
and pervasive it is.
We
could say that cheating is unique to human beings, but that would be
wrong. I've watched the dogs who live with me hide toys belonging to
one another, and take food when they think no one's watching. Crows
will “tag-team;” one flies close and threatens another bird's
nest. When the mother leaves the nest to chase that crow away, the
other one zips in and grabs a couple of babies. Wolves and lions
resort to the same tactics of distraction and manipulation. Military
everywhere plan strategy based on subterfuge and misinformation—it's
the way the game is played, and the “winner” is the one who's
best at it.
My
question is this: When is dishonesty right, and when is it wrong? How
do we learn the difference, and how do we teach it to our children?
We all smile and compliment when we don't mean a word of it—our
politicians have that down to a fine art. We all take short-cuts on
taxes, and engage in exaggeration. Is morality relative, or is it
concrete? Where do we draw the line, and are we aware of when we've
crossed it? Some good questions to ponder today.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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