"A little inaccuracy saves a world of explanation". C. E. Ayers
Assignment: Is it always essential to tell the truth or are there circumstances in which it is better to lie?
Lying is bad. It is a sin and I know it. Since I am a kid, my parents have been warning me, my relatives have been advising me, the priests have been threatening me: do not lie! I have always believed that any lie will further reduce my chances of getting the cosy place to heaven I desire. But during my marriage preparation course, I was told that relationship is more important than being right. I had soon adapted this powerful saying to the convenient “Relationship is more important than telling the truth”.
I confess I have a quirk: only French hairstylists can touch my hair. Untrusting any non-French experts with my head invariably results in a hair disaster. In these conditions, I have no other choices than to pay a prohibitive amount to get my hair cut at a high class French salon in Mumbai. And every time my dear husband notices the superb - that goes without saying- outcome, he asks for the fee of the service. With his haircut’s value barely crossing two figures, I am bound to make small adjustments. So I divide the cost of the haircut by four. A lie? Hardly! It is just a small mathematical trick, a kind of currency translation to adapt to his price standards. At the same time, I protect our household from endless heated arguments and their usual collateral damages: stress, insomnia, suspicion or even worse: loss of credit card. Indeed, he would definitely dispute the yet undeniable fact that I am actually saving money: of course, a four digit rupee haircut in Mumbai is a bargain compare to a Mumbai to Paris flight ticket combined with a two figure euro haircut in Paris. Hence, this minor imprecision is nothing but a devoted contribution to the harmony of our marriage.
In France, one does not talk about money: it is impolite to enquire someone’s salary; it is taboo to ask for the price of anything outside a shop. So when my Indian sister-in-law asked me how much our rent was with her usual and insatiable curiosity, I flushed with embarrassment. I felt as she was invading my personal space. I could not bring myself to tell her the amount, nor could I abruptly refuse to answer. So I wriggled out of the situation with an elegant and chaste “I don’t know”. “Anne, that is what I like about you: you are so innocent! I would have nagged my husband forever to know the amount.” Her naivety was touching. Was it my fault if she misunderstood my thoughtful attempt to preserve both our cultural sensitivities? Should I have disabused her and run the triple risk of, first having to justify my white lie; second offending her by conceding my reluctance to share everything with her; and third losing my unexpected and welcomed new status of “innocent girl”? I had quickly chosen to quietly encash the free brownie points. This inaccuracy was driven by a case of force majeure: keeping intact the relations with my husband’s family.
Life has showed me that some circumstances require the truth to be reinterpreted, especially if the goals are pure. And William Blake wrote that “A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent”. For sure the reciprocal logic must also be correct, isn’t it? “A lie that’s told with good intent beats the truth used to torment”. Does that mean I may still go to heaven? Can my conscience now lie – sorry, I mean rest – in peace?
