Dishonesty: The Second-Best Policy
Jun. 10th, 2008 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"Man strives for honor, glory, fame
That all the world should know his name
Amasses wealth by brain and hand
Becomes a power in the land
But as he nears the end of life
And looks back o’er the years of strife
He finds that happiness depends
On none of these, but love of friends."
- Unknown
What is friendship? Or, more specifically, what are the rules for friendship? It is a question too imposing for this journal and this journalist, but the answer governs any meaningful discussion of interpersonal ethics. It applies to time-honored quandaries (the classic "friends-or-lovers" conundrum), sage cliches ("never mix business with pleasure") and existential musings (see the quotation above).
Any friend worth friendship has surely pondered this pickle: does friendship mandate unflinching honesty at all times and in all circumstances, or rather, is it essential to safeguard a friend's feelings and sustain a mutually comfortable relationship at all costs?
The answer -- if there is one -- probably depends on a string of separate factors: the nature, length and quality of the friendship, the importance of the issue, the tone of the message and whether the opinion was solicited or offered freely.
Obviously a strong friendship, built on shared values, years of accumulated trust and a firm emotional bond, is better suited to withstand the occasional brutal truth, whereas a flimsy and tentative relationship is subject to little white lies of convenience. For example: Robin should feel comfortable criticizing Batman's erratic driving, but may not wish to opine on Wonder Woman's bad luck with men.
It would seem that the more important the issue is, the more honesty is required. For example: there is a strong moral imperative for you to confess to your best friend that you are banging his wife, but there is less obligation if you are simply stealing the TV Guide from his mailbox.
As with any rough pill to swallow, the truth always goes down easier with a milk chocolate coating. For example: it is one's proper duty to mention a swimsuit makes your friend's rear end looks big, but it would be impolitic to convey this message by making "beep-beep-beep" noises as they are backing up.
These elements all require some degree of judgment. It is in the heart and mind of the individual whether the message and the friendship itself reaches the threshhold for full disclosure. The solicitation of opinion, however, is more binary -- a direct inquiry is practically an invitation to blunt force honesty, while reticence is a non-verbal suggestion to keep your mouth shut.
I have always been -- or have always fancied myself as being -- the type of person who provides incisive candor rather than ambiguous platitudes, often at the unfortunate expense of better and more thoughtful consideration. But I also like to think of myself as a sympathetic person with a keen sense of vulnerability, who understands that the promise of unconditional support has just as much value as the truth.
It would be easier if there were some kind of standard disclaimer that a person could attach to a statement of truth, something legally binding and indemnifying against physical and/or emotional distress, like: As your friend of [EXAMPLE: 10] years, with all the rewards and responsibilities thereto, and with all the sincerest loyalty and affection rendered thereof, having reviewed the pertinent facts with due dilligence and solemnly weighed the potential repercussions to all interested parties, hereby declare that [EXAMPLE: your new baby daughter looks like Ricardo Montalban.]
Or maybe there should be a three-step disclaimer process, like so:
AMY: I made this lasagna from a vegan recipe I found on the Internet.
AMY'S FRIEND: Would you like my opinion on the lasagna?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: Can we agree that my opinion is meant as a constructive comment with all of the best intentions and should not be interpreted as malicious?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: Do you understand that no matter what opinion I may register here, it is separate and distinct from our friendship and has no bearing on my fondness for you?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: It tastes like rat vomit.
Or perhaps we should all have suggestion boxes where our friends could feel free to drop anonymous notes, comments and criticisms. (Then again, the anonymity would seem to subvert the whole point of friendship responsibility. Also it would probably just get filled with junk mail.)
Of course, all of these provisions would make any frank and full exchange of views cumbersome, not to mention that they would never hold up in a court of law. It seems antithetical that the rules of friendship would effectively sacrifice such candor, but I suppose sacrifice is as noble as honesty.
But that only begs the question: is a friendship worth sacrificing for if it's not worth sacrificing?
That all the world should know his name
Amasses wealth by brain and hand
Becomes a power in the land
But as he nears the end of life
And looks back o’er the years of strife
He finds that happiness depends
On none of these, but love of friends."
- Unknown
What is friendship? Or, more specifically, what are the rules for friendship? It is a question too imposing for this journal and this journalist, but the answer governs any meaningful discussion of interpersonal ethics. It applies to time-honored quandaries (the classic "friends-or-lovers" conundrum), sage cliches ("never mix business with pleasure") and existential musings (see the quotation above).
Any friend worth friendship has surely pondered this pickle: does friendship mandate unflinching honesty at all times and in all circumstances, or rather, is it essential to safeguard a friend's feelings and sustain a mutually comfortable relationship at all costs?
The answer -- if there is one -- probably depends on a string of separate factors: the nature, length and quality of the friendship, the importance of the issue, the tone of the message and whether the opinion was solicited or offered freely.
Obviously a strong friendship, built on shared values, years of accumulated trust and a firm emotional bond, is better suited to withstand the occasional brutal truth, whereas a flimsy and tentative relationship is subject to little white lies of convenience. For example: Robin should feel comfortable criticizing Batman's erratic driving, but may not wish to opine on Wonder Woman's bad luck with men.
It would seem that the more important the issue is, the more honesty is required. For example: there is a strong moral imperative for you to confess to your best friend that you are banging his wife, but there is less obligation if you are simply stealing the TV Guide from his mailbox.
As with any rough pill to swallow, the truth always goes down easier with a milk chocolate coating. For example: it is one's proper duty to mention a swimsuit makes your friend's rear end looks big, but it would be impolitic to convey this message by making "beep-beep-beep" noises as they are backing up.
These elements all require some degree of judgment. It is in the heart and mind of the individual whether the message and the friendship itself reaches the threshhold for full disclosure. The solicitation of opinion, however, is more binary -- a direct inquiry is practically an invitation to blunt force honesty, while reticence is a non-verbal suggestion to keep your mouth shut.
I have always been -- or have always fancied myself as being -- the type of person who provides incisive candor rather than ambiguous platitudes, often at the unfortunate expense of better and more thoughtful consideration. But I also like to think of myself as a sympathetic person with a keen sense of vulnerability, who understands that the promise of unconditional support has just as much value as the truth.
It would be easier if there were some kind of standard disclaimer that a person could attach to a statement of truth, something legally binding and indemnifying against physical and/or emotional distress, like: As your friend of [EXAMPLE: 10] years, with all the rewards and responsibilities thereto, and with all the sincerest loyalty and affection rendered thereof, having reviewed the pertinent facts with due dilligence and solemnly weighed the potential repercussions to all interested parties, hereby declare that [EXAMPLE: your new baby daughter looks like Ricardo Montalban.]
Or maybe there should be a three-step disclaimer process, like so:
AMY: I made this lasagna from a vegan recipe I found on the Internet.
AMY'S FRIEND: Would you like my opinion on the lasagna?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: Can we agree that my opinion is meant as a constructive comment with all of the best intentions and should not be interpreted as malicious?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: Do you understand that no matter what opinion I may register here, it is separate and distinct from our friendship and has no bearing on my fondness for you?
AMY: Yes.
AMY'S FRIEND: It tastes like rat vomit.
Or perhaps we should all have suggestion boxes where our friends could feel free to drop anonymous notes, comments and criticisms. (Then again, the anonymity would seem to subvert the whole point of friendship responsibility. Also it would probably just get filled with junk mail.)
Of course, all of these provisions would make any frank and full exchange of views cumbersome, not to mention that they would never hold up in a court of law. It seems antithetical that the rules of friendship would effectively sacrifice such candor, but I suppose sacrifice is as noble as honesty.
But that only begs the question: is a friendship worth sacrificing for if it's not worth sacrificing?
