For a while, I thought motorcyclists looked menacing – many
ride behind dark sunglasses on machines with modified mufflers, scaring the daylights
out of others nearby. I wondered if they
were high while cruising on their monstrous noisemakers. But it turns out that the most doped up hog was
a cyclist. He was so famous that there
was literally a stamp (of approval) on his work uniform, and millions proudly paid
to wear bracelets practically with his name on it.
Going from being worshipped (or thinking of himself) as a
demi-god to being called a “pathological
liar,” a “bully,” and a “manipulator” must hurt more than crashes,
surgeries, and chemotherapies. I
couldn’t care less about this guy who made a living riding a bike. Cheating was (literally) in his blood. But still, should we take the moral high
ground in wagging our fingers? We have
a professional sports system where one can win or lose millions in prizes and
endorsement revenue, and sponsors could reap even higher returns on their
investment when their athletes win. With
corporations cashing in from fans’ cheering, cheating on
the massive scale and cover up can be expected. Could
we have handled the truth?
It also turns out that – gasp – lying is very common among
mere mortals. Maybe that’s why the former head of the International Cycling
Agency's anti-doping foundation said that if the cyclist were simply a
“single, one-off liar,” or a “drug cheat,” he might have deserved a second
chance after appropriate sanctions. In one
study, participants engaged in a recorded conversation
with another stranger for 10 minutes. Looking at the footage later, participants
were amazed of the little lies that came out. In just 10 minutes, they told an
average of 3 false things.
Most people don’t start out cheating in egregious ways. When we can cheat
just a little bit, we may rationalize it.
But this grey zone can get us in trouble. After we take one dishonest step, we become a
slightly different person. And then we take another step, and another step. We
gradually rationalize what we would once have considered to be unacceptable
dishonesty.
We shut
little kids’ mouths when they tell embarrassing truths, and they quickly
learn that lying can get them out of trouble.
Adults insist that sometimes we need to lie for altruistic or
utilitarian reasons. My undergrad
students would all say that they would lie to the Nazis to protect the Jews
hiding in the cellar.
Sure, philosophers are great at coming up with thought
experiments to prove a point. But the
line between altruistic lies and self-serving lies isn’t all that clear in most
cases. I doubt that any lies I’ve ever
told was necessary to save another person’s life. Their ego, perhaps. Or more likely, my own ego. We are prone to fudge the truth and excuse
our embellishments. We hear what we want
to hear, and we shun those who have the courage to tell the truth. We even need protections for
whistleblowers. (If we were all willing
to hear and investigate the truth, there wouldn’t be such a thing as
whistleblowers.)
So before we wag our fingers again, we may need to stop
putting others in situations where they think they have to lie to us, or excuse
our deceptions as simply white lies. We benefit from a system where
we can trust others, but that also demands that we all fulfill our
responsibility in showing that we can
handle and would deliver nothing but the truth.
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