Honesty by Nuria Mathog
The true measure of our honor cannot be determined by the number of golden sportsmanship ribbons gracing our wall or the quantity of little black “O”s on our report card, but by how much we are willing to give up to preserve it. Honor, by definition, demands sacrifice. If honesty were a matter no more complex than voicing the facts, the truth would surely govern all aspects of our lives, and we'd think nothing much about it. But we don't live in such an ideal world; in our multifaceted society, the principles guiding our decisions are not nearly that simple. There are always other factors involved: futures at stake, reputations in jeopardy, complications for the people we care about—all variables that serve to create a complicated, bewildering, and wholly unbalanced moral equation. Beneath the intricate exterior, though, the solution is always the same. Maybe we're genuinely ignorant of this fact, but it's a far more likely possibility that we just don't want to admit it—effectively lying by omission.
From an early age, we're taught to always tell the truth. It's one of those so-called invaluable life lessons, right up there with “you're really gonna regret it if you pocket that candy bar” and “sharing is good for the soul”—a message firmly ingrained through lectures, hypothetical anecdotes, and constant reminders to exercise good judgment, drilled into our brains until it becomes a thought process as natural as breathing. And at one time, we might have taken these words of wisdom seriously, confident that all we had to do was adhere to the tenets of honesty, and things would somehow work out for us.
But nobody warned us about the flip side, the ugly repercussions to taking the high road. In reality, it doesn't always pay to be honest—at least not in any tangible way. Consequently, we end up pacing fretfully at the ethical crossroads, internally debating, for instance, whether to point out that the correct grade is significantly lower than the letter on the sheet. What to do? Say nothing and be forever harassed by our conscience, or speak up and watch an unpleasant chain of events unfold, beginning with parental wrath and ending with a less-than-stellar transcript? And that's only a mild example; add a few more variables, and the cost-benefit analysis is thrown even further into limbo. Suppose you're called in as a witness to a crime—a situation that would ordinarily have you detailing everything you saw—except you're well aware that a good friend was involved. Do you keep your mouth shut and avoid implicating your friend—and face perjury charges if you're caught—or give an accurate account of what happened and watch a lifelong friendship instantly dissolve? There are no easy answers.
In today's world, it often seems that life isn't favorable to the honest—in fact, it seems to reward those who thrive on deception. The times are tough, but the competition is even tougher, and unsurprisingly, the law is often cast aside in the process. On one side, you have the average, honest worker struggling to make a living in an unforgiving era; on the opposite end of the spectrum, you have people like Madoff, who generate ridiculous annual profits by laundering money and ruining lives. It's an incomparably frustrating phenomenon—how are we to justify an ethics code when the most successful enterprises are illegal?
Though we may have outgrown the childish chants of “liar, liar, pants on fire,” our resentment towards dishonesty remains, understandably, as strong as ever. But before we start playing with our own moral matches, let's think of the consequences before we, too, choose to set ourselves ablaze.
The true measure of our honor cannot be determined by the number of golden sportsmanship ribbons gracing our wall or the quantity of little black “O”s on our report card, but by how much we are willing to give up to preserve it. Honor, by definition, demands sacrifice. If honesty were a matter no more complex than voicing the facts, the truth would surely govern all aspects of our lives, and we'd think nothing much about it. But we don't live in such an ideal world; in our multifaceted society, the principles guiding our decisions are not nearly that simple. There are always other factors involved: futures at stake, reputations in jeopardy, complications for the people we care about—all variables that serve to create a complicated, bewildering, and wholly unbalanced moral equation. Beneath the intricate exterior, though, the solution is always the same. Maybe we're genuinely ignorant of this fact, but it's a far more likely possibility that we just don't want to admit it—effectively lying by omission.
From an early age, we're taught to always tell the truth. It's one of those so-called invaluable life lessons, right up there with “you're really gonna regret it if you pocket that candy bar” and “sharing is good for the soul”—a message firmly ingrained through lectures, hypothetical anecdotes, and constant reminders to exercise good judgment, drilled into our brains until it becomes a thought process as natural as breathing. And at one time, we might have taken these words of wisdom seriously, confident that all we had to do was adhere to the tenets of honesty, and things would somehow work out for us.
But nobody warned us about the flip side, the ugly repercussions to taking the high road. In reality, it doesn't always pay to be honest—at least not in any tangible way. Consequently, we end up pacing fretfully at the ethical crossroads, internally debating, for instance, whether to point out that the correct grade is significantly lower than the letter on the sheet. What to do? Say nothing and be forever harassed by our conscience, or speak up and watch an unpleasant chain of events unfold, beginning with parental wrath and ending with a less-than-stellar transcript? And that's only a mild example; add a few more variables, and the cost-benefit analysis is thrown even further into limbo. Suppose you're called in as a witness to a crime—a situation that would ordinarily have you detailing everything you saw—except you're well aware that a good friend was involved. Do you keep your mouth shut and avoid implicating your friend—and face perjury charges if you're caught—or give an accurate account of what happened and watch a lifelong friendship instantly dissolve? There are no easy answers.
In today's world, it often seems that life isn't favorable to the honest—in fact, it seems to reward those who thrive on deception. The times are tough, but the competition is even tougher, and unsurprisingly, the law is often cast aside in the process. On one side, you have the average, honest worker struggling to make a living in an unforgiving era; on the opposite end of the spectrum, you have people like Madoff, who generate ridiculous annual profits by laundering money and ruining lives. It's an incomparably frustrating phenomenon—how are we to justify an ethics code when the most successful enterprises are illegal?
Though we may have outgrown the childish chants of “liar, liar, pants on fire,” our resentment towards dishonesty remains, understandably, as strong as ever. But before we start playing with our own moral matches, let's think of the consequences before we, too, choose to set ourselves ablaze.