Tag: societal norms

The Truth About Lying

Posted in identity, language, morality, perception, philosophy, power, psychology, quote, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Every American knows that George Washington cannot tell a lie, so he confesses to chopping down a cherry tree. Much of American (and pretty much any) history is rife with lies. Sure, some myths, fables, and legends contain some kernel of truth, but they’re ostensibly propaganda and lies. But what is it about humans and lying? Moreover, if you don’t lie appropriately, you’re marginalised.

‘Yes, those jeans do make you look fat. To be honest, they don’t have much of a chance of doing otherwise.’

Why Honesty Gets You Shunned

Ah, truth. That elusive, glittering ideal we claim to cherish above all else. The thing we teach our children to uphold, weave into our national anthems, and plaster across inspirational posters. Yet, scratch the surface of human interaction, and you’ll find a murky, convoluted relationship with truth—one that oscillates between romantic obsession and outright disdain. If truth were a person, it would be the friend we invite to parties but spend the whole night avoiding.

we don’t just tolerate lying; we expect it

It’s not just that we lie—we excel at it. We lie casually, reflexively, like it’s part of our evolutionary DNA. And here’s the kicker: we don’t just tolerate lying; we expect it. Worse still, they are promptly shunned when someone dares to buck the trend and embrace honesty—unapologetically refusing to engage in the ritualistic deception that greases the wheels of society. It’s a paradox so rich it deserves its own soap opera.

Lying: The Social Glue That Binds Us

lying is essential to civilisation

Let’s start with the uncomfortable truth: lying is essential to civilisation. Yes, the thing your kindergarten teacher told you was bad is the same thing that keeps society from collapsing into chaos. Without lies, polite society would implode under the weight of raw honesty.

  • The Politeness Lie: “Do these trousers make me look fat?” Imagine answering this question truthfully. You’d be ostracised by lunchtime.
  • The Collective Myth: From national pride to religious dogma, our shared lies—”We’re the greatest country on Earth!” or “Our side never starts wars!”—are the glue that holds nations, ideologies, and social hierarchies together.

Without these lies, the façade crumbles, and we’re left staring into the abyss of our inadequacies. Lies make the unbearable palatable. They provide comfort where truth would leave only discomfort and despair.

The Paradox of the Honest Outsider

Now here’s where it gets juicy: we claim to value honesty, yet we loathe the honest person. The unapologetic truth-teller is viewed not as virtuous but as insufferable. Why? Because they threaten the delicate equilibrium of our collective deceptions.

  • Social Disruption: Truth-tellers force us to confront realities we’d rather ignore. Like that co-worker who insists the team-building exercises are pointless, they upset the carefully curated fiction we’ve all agreed to believe.
  • Untrustworthy Honesty: Ironically, we often trust liars more than truth-tellers. The liar plays by the unspoken rules of the game, while the honest person seems unpredictable and even dangerous.
Image: Meme: ‘What’s your greatest weakness?’

Lies as Power Plays

From a Foucauldian perspective (because who doesn’t love a bit of Foucault?), lies are more than social lubricants—they are tools of power. Governments lie to maintain control, institutions lie to justify their existence, and individuals lie to navigate these systems without losing their minds.

Honesty is a destabilising force. It’s a rebellion against the status quo.

But honesty? Honesty is a destabilising force. It’s a rebellion against the status quo. Those who reject lies challenge the structures of power that depend on them. This is why whistleblowers, truth-tellers, and sceptics are often ostracised. They expose the game, and in doing so, they risk collapsing the entire house of cards.

Cognitive Dissonance and Escalating Commitment

The real kicker is how we defend these lies. Once we’ve told or accepted a lie, we become invested in it. The psychological discomfort of admitting we’ve been duped—cognitive dissonance—leads us to double down.

  • Escalating Commitment: From minor fibs (“I’ll just hit snooze once”) to societal delusions (“This war is for freedom”), we defend lies because admitting the truth feels like self-destruction.

Meanwhile, the honest person, standing on the sidelines of this elaborate charade, becomes a threat. Their refusal to participate makes them a mirror, reflecting the absurdity of our commitment to the lie. And we hate them for it.

The Ostracism of Honesty

Shunning the truth-teller isn’t just a quirk of human behaviour—it’s a survival mechanism. Lies are the foundation of the social contract. Refusing to lie or to accept lies is tantamount to breaking that contract.

  • The Group Protects Itself: Honest individuals are scapegoated to preserve cohesion. They’re labelled as rude, arrogant, or untrustworthy to justify their exclusion.
  • The Emotional Toll: Truth-tellers aren’t just rejected—they’re actively punished. This social cost ensures that most people choose compliance over honesty.

Is There Hope for Honesty?

lies may be the glue that binds us…

So, where does this leave us? Are we doomed to live in a world where lies are rewarded and honesty is punished? Not necessarily. Here’s the silver lining: lies may be the glue that binds us, but truth is the solvent that cleanses.

  • Building Bridges: Truth-tellers who approach honesty with empathy—rather than confrontation—can foster change without alienating others.
  • Cultural Shifts: Societal norms around lying are not fixed. Movements like radical transparency in organisations or calls for accountability in politics show that change is possible.

The challenge is navigating the paradox: to live truthfully in a world that prizes deception without becoming a martyr for the cause.

Conclusion: The Truth Hurts, But Lies Hurt More

Our love-hate relationship with truth is as old as humanity itself. Lies comfort us, unite us, and shield us from the harshness of reality—but they also entrap us. The truth-teller, though ostracised, holds a mirror to our collective delusions, forcing us to confront the uncomfortable question: what kind of world do we want to live in?

For now, it seems, we’d rather lie than answer honestly.

References

  1. Ariely, D. (2012). The Honest Truth About Dishonesty: How We Lie to Everyone—Especially Ourselves. Harper.
    • Explores everyday lies, self-deception, and the psychological mechanisms behind dishonesty.
  2. Raden, A. (2021). The Truth About Lies: The Illusion of Honesty and the Evolution of Deceit. St. Martin’s Press.
    • Examines the evolutionary and cultural roots of deception and its role in shaping human behaviour.
  3. Foucault, M. (1977). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books.
    • A foundational text for understanding power dynamics, including how truth and lies are used to control and normalise behaviour.
  4. Foucault, M. (1980). Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–1977. Pantheon Books.
    • Delves into the relationship between power and the production of truth in society.
  5. Bok, S. (1999). Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life. Vintage Books.
    • A comprehensive analysis of the ethical dimensions of lying and its societal implications.
  6. Smith, D. L. (2004). Why We Lie: The Evolutionary Roots of Deception and the Unconscious Mind. St. Martin’s Press.
    • Explores how deception is hardwired into the human psyche and its evolutionary advantages.
  7. Orwell, G. (1946). Politics and the English Language. Horizon.
    • A classic essay on how language—including lies—is used as a tool of manipulation in politics.
  8. Arendt, H. (1972). Crises of the Republic. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
    • Particularly the essay “Lying in Politics,” which critiques the use of deception in public affairs.
  9. Trivers, R. (2011). The Folly of Fools: The Logic of Deceit and Self-Deception in Human Life. Basic Books.
    • Examines self-deception and its evolutionary benefits, shedding light on how lies operate at individual and societal levels.
  10. Nietzsche, F. (1873). On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense (translated in Philosophy and Truth, 1979). Harper & Row.
    • A philosophical exploration of truth as a construct and the utility of lies.

Morality: The Mirage of Subjectivity Within a Relative Framework

Posted in morality, philosophy, podcast, power, society, SpotifyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 6 Comments

Morality, that ever-elusive beacon of human conduct, is often treated as an immutable entity—a granite monolith dictating the terms of right and wrong. Yet, upon closer inspection, morality reveals itself to be a mirage: a construct contingent upon cultural frameworks, historical conditions, and individual subjectivity. It is neither absolute nor universal but, rather, relative and ultimately subjective, lacking any intrinsic meaning outside of the context that gives it shape.

Audio: Spotify podcast conversation about this topic.

Nietzsche: Beyond Good and Evil, Beyond Absolutes

Friedrich Nietzsche, in his polemical Beyond Good and Evil and On the Genealogy of Morality, exposes the illusion of objective morality. For Nietzsche, moral systems are inherently the products of human fabrication—tools of power masquerading as eternal truths. He describes two primary moralities: master morality and slave morality. Master morality, derived from the strong, values power, creativity, and self-affirmation. Slave morality, by contrast, is reactive, rooted in the resentment (ressentiment) of the weak, who redefine strength as “evil” and weakness as “good.”

Nietzsche’s critique dismantles the notion that morality exists independently of cultural, historical, or power dynamics. What is “moral” for one era or society may be utterly abhorrent to another. Consider the glorification of war and conquest in ancient Sparta versus the modern valorisation of equality and human rights. Each framework exalts its own virtues not because they are universally true but because they serve the prevailing cultural and existential needs of their time.

The Myth of Monolithic Morality

Even viewed through a relativistic lens—and despite the protestations of Immanuel Kant or Jordan Peterson—morality is not and has never been monolithic. The belief in a singular, unchanging moral order is, at best, a Pollyanna myth or wishful thinking, perpetuated by those who prefer their moral compass untroubled by nuance. History is not the story of one moral narrative, but of a multiplicity of subcultures and countercultures, each with its own moral orientation. These orientations, while judged by the dominant moral compass of the era, always resist and redefine what is acceptable and good.

If the tables are turned, so is the moral compass reoriented. The Man in the High Castle captures this truth chillingly. Had the Nazis won World War II, Americans—despite their lofty self-perceptions—would have quickly adopted the morality of their new rulers. The foundations of American morality would have been reimagined in the image of the Third Reich, not through inherent belief but through cultural osmosis, survival instincts, and institutionalised pressure. What we now consider abhorrent might have become, under those circumstances, morally unremarkable. Morality, in this view, is not timeless but endlessly pliable, bending to the will of power and circumstance.

The Case for Moral Objectivity: Kantian Ethics

In contrast to Nietzsche’s relativism, Immanuel Kant offers a vision of morality as rational, universal, and objective. Kant’s categorical imperative asserts that moral principles must be universally applicable, derived not from cultural or historical contingencies but from pure reason. For Kant, the moral law is intrinsic to rational beings and can be expressed as: “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.”

This framework provides a stark rebuttal to Nietzsche’s subjectivity. If morality is rooted in reason, then it transcends the whims of power dynamics or cultural specificity. Under Kant’s system, slavery, war, and exploitation are not morally permissible, regardless of historical acceptance or cultural norms, because they cannot be willed universally without contradiction. Kant’s moral absolutism thus offers a bulwark against the potential nihilism of Nietzschean subjectivity.

Cultural Pressure: The Birthplace of Moral Adoption

The individual’s adoption of morality is rarely a matter of pure, autonomous choice. Rather, it is shaped by the relentless pressures of culture. Michel Foucault’s analysis of disciplinary power in works such as Discipline and Punish highlights how societies engineer moral behaviours through surveillance, normalisation, and institutional reinforcement. From childhood, individuals are inculcated with the moral codes of their culture, internalising these norms until they appear natural and self-evident.

Yet this adoption is not passive. Even within the constraints of culture, individuals exercise agency, reshaping or rejecting the moral frameworks imposed upon them. Nietzsche’s Übermensch represents the apotheosis of this rebellion: a figure who transcends societal norms to create their own values, living authentically in the absence of universal moral truths. By contrast, Kantian ethics and utilitarianism might critique the Übermensch as solipsistic, untethered from the responsibilities of shared moral life.

Morality in a Shifting World

Morality’s subjectivity is its double-edged sword. While its flexibility allows adaptation to changing societal needs, it also exposes the fragility of moral consensus. Consider how modern societies have redefined morality over decades, from colonialism to civil rights, from gender roles to ecological responsibility. What was once moral is now abhorrent; what was once abhorrent is now a moral imperative. Yet even as society evolves, its subcultures and countercultures continue to resist and reshape dominant moral paradigms. If history teaches us anything, it is that morality is less a fixed star and more a flickering flame, always at the mercy of shifting winds.

Conclusion: The Artifice of Moral Meaning

Morality, then, is not a universal truth etched into the fabric of existence but a subjective artifice, constructed by cultures to serve their needs and adopted by individuals under varying degrees of pressure. Nietzsche’s philosophy teaches us that morality, stripped of its pretensions, is not an arbiter of truth but a symptom of human striving—one more manifestation of the will to power. In contrast, Kantian ethics and utilitarianism offer structured visions of morality, but even these grapple with the tensions between universal principles and the messy realities of history and culture.

As The Man in the High Castle suggests, morality is a contingent, situational artefact, liable to be rewritten at the whim of those in power. Its apparent stability is an illusion, a construct that shifts with every epoch, every conquest, every revolution. To ignore this truth is to cling to a comforting, but ultimately deceptive, myth. Morality, like all human constructs, is both a triumph and a deception, forever relative, ever mutable, yet persistently contested by those who would impose an impossible order on its chaos.

Switching Teams, Same Game: How Politics Is the New Religion

Posted in language, modernism, philosophy, postmodernism, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 5 Comments

Jean-François Lyotard’s Le DiffĂ©rend has a way of gnawing at you—not with profound revelations, but with the slow, disquieting erosion of assumptions. It got me thinking about something uncomfortably obvious: political orientation is nothing more than the secular cousin of religious indoctrination. Just as most people will, without much scrutiny, cling to the religion of their upbringing and defend it as the One True Faith, the same applies to their political worldview. Whether you’re baptised into Anglicanism or wade knee-deep into the waters of neoliberalism, the zeal is indistinguishable.

Of course, there are the self-proclaimed rebels who smugly declare they’ve rejected their parents’ politics. The ones who went left when Mum and Dad leaned right or discovered anarchism in the ruins of a conservative household. But let’s not be fooled by the patina of rebellion: they may have switched teams, but they’re still playing the same game. They’ve accepted the foundational myths of institutions and democracy—those hallowed, untouchable idols. Like religion, these constructs are not just defended but sanctified, preached as the best or only possible versions of salvation. Dissenters are heretics; non-believers are unthinkable.

It’s not that political ideologies are inherently bad (just like religion has its occasional charm). It’s that the devout rarely stop to question whether the framework itself might be the problem. They assume the boundaries are fixed, the terms are immutable, and the debate is merely about the correct interpretation of the catechism. But if Lyotard has taught us anything, it’s this: the real battles—the différends—are the ones no one’s even acknowledging because the language to articulate them doesn’t exist in the prevailing orthodoxy.