Ethical dilemma: Would you lie? - Sarah Stroud

Your plan to set up your friend Carey with your acquaintance Emerson

is finally coming together.

Both individuals have heard all about each other

and they’re eager to meet for dinner.

You’ve just made them a reservation for Friday night,

and you’re about to text Carey the details

when an unsettling thought crosses your mind:

Carey is always late.

And not just by 5 minutes;

we’re talking 20 or even 30 minutes late.

Carey seems to view punctuality as an oppressive relic of an earlier era.

But what if you told them dinner was at 6 instead of 6:30?

That way, they would almost certainly arrive on time.

You really want this relationship to work, so... should you lie?

Take a moment to think: what you would do?

Maybe you should lie!

You think this new relationship could be great for Carey,

and you don’t want them to ruin it before it’s even begun.

Sure, Emerson may eventually learn about their chronic lateness.

But if Carey shows up on time just this once,

the relationship will at least have a chance to take root.

Your lie would pave the way for a potentially happy relationship.

And if taking an action will create a better outcome for everyone involved,

that’s normally a pretty good reason to take it.

But isn't it morally wrong to lie?

The absolutist position on lying,

associated with German philosopher Immanuel Kant,

holds that lying is always immoral, regardless of the circumstances.

In other words, there’s a moral rule which forbids lying,

and that rule is absolute.

You might think, though, that this stance overstates

the moral importance of lying.

Suppose a murderer were hunting Carey down.

If the killer asked you about Carey’s whereabouts,

it seems odd to say that you must tell the truth

at the cost of your friend’s life.

From this perspective, absolutism seems too rigid.

By contrast, utilitarian philosopher John Stuart Mill

would say lying is wrong only when it leads to less happiness overall.

Now, to be fair, most lies do seem likely to create unhappiness.

Someone who accepts a lie believes something which is false,

and trying to conduct your life on the basis of false information

doesn’t usually go well.

However, in some circumstances, perhaps including your situation,

lying might produce more happiness overall.

In those cases, utilitarians say it’s not morally wrong to lie.

In fact, it might even be your moral duty to do so.

But if absolutism seems too extreme, you might feel this stance is too lax.

In other words, perhaps the utilitarian position understates

the moral significance of lying.

Most people generally feel some regret about lying,

even when they believe it’s the right thing to do.

This suggests there’s something inherently objectionable about lying—

even when it leads to more happiness.

In this case, lying to Carey would be an instance of Paternalism.

Paternalism is interfering with another person’s choices

for that person's benefit.

This might be fine if that person is a literal child.

But it seems disrespectful to treat a peer paternalistically.

Lying to Carey would mean taking away their opportunity

to handle the situation as they see fit, based on their own beliefs and values.

Trying to protect Carey from what you consider

to be a bad choice would show a lack of respect for their autonomy.

By extension, it might also be disrespectful towards Emerson,

since you would be deliberately trying to give him a false impression

of Carey’s punctuality.

So how do you weigh potential happiness against guaranteed disrespect?

Followers of Kant would say treating others with respect

is the heart of moral conduct,

while followers of Mill would say nothing is more important than happiness.

But other philosophers believe that such conflicts can only be resolved

on a case-by-case basis,

depending on various details and on the individuals involved.

So what will you do in Carey’s case?