the so-called 'white lie' to be morally permissible?" Then he takes up
the cases of children and the insane, who are not entitled to know all
the truth, and asks if it be right not only to conceal the truth but
to falsify it, in talking with them. Concealment may be a duty, he
admits, but he denies that falsifying is ever a duty. "How shall
ethics ever be brought to lay down a duty of lying [of 'white lying'],
to recommend evil that good may come? The test for us is, whether we
could ever imagine Christ acting in this way, either for the sake of
others, or--which would be quite as justifiable, since self-love is a
moral duty--for his _own_ sake."
As to falsifying to a sick or dying man, he says, "we overestimate the
value of human life, and, besides, we in a measure usurp the place
of Providence, when we believe we may save it by committing sin." In
other words, Dorner counts falsifying with the intention of deceiving,
even with the best of motives, a lie, and therefore a sin--never
justifiable. Like Augustine, Dorner recognizes degrees of guilt in
lies, according to the spirit and motive of their telling; but in any
event, if there be falsehood with the purpose of deceiving, it is a
sin--to be regretted and repented of.
Dorner makes a fresh distinction between the stratagems of war and
lying, which is worthy of note. He says that playful fictions, after
the manner of riddles to be guessed out, are clearly allowable. So "in
war, too, something like a game of this kind is carried on, when by
way of stratagem some deceptive appearance is produced, and a riddle
is thus given to the enemy. In such cases there is no falsehood;
for from the conditions of the situation,--whether friendly or
hostile,--the appearance that is given is confessedly nothing more
than an appearance, and is therefore honest."
The simplicity and clearness of Dorner, in his unsophistical treatment
of this question, is in refreshing contrast with the course of
Rothe,--who confuses the whole matter in discussion by his arbitrary
claim that a lie is not a lie, if it be told with a good purpose and a
loving spirit. And the two men are representative disputants in
this controversy of the centuries, as truly as were Augustine and
Chrysostom.
A close friend of Dorner was Hans Lassen Martensen, "the greatest
theologian of Denmark," and a thinker of the first class, "with high
speculative endowments, and a considerable tincture of theosophical
mysticism."[1] Martensen's "Christian Ethics" do not ignore God
and the Bible as factors in any question of practical morals under
discussion. He characterizes the result of such an omission as "a
reckoning of an account whose balance has been struck elsewhere; if
we bring out another figure, we have reckoned wrong." Martensen's
treatment of the duty of veracity is a remarkable exhibit of the
workings of a logical mind in full view of eternal principles, yet
measurably hindered and retarded by the heart-drawings of an amiable
sentiment. He sees the all-dividing line, and recognizes the primal
duty of conforming to it; yet he feels that it is a pity that such
conformity must be so expensive in certain imaginary cases, and he
longs to find some allowance for desirable exceptions.[2]
[Footnote 1: See Kurtz's _Church History_ (Macpherson's transl.),
III., 201; _Supplement to Schaff-Hertzog Encyc. of Relig. Knowl_., p.
57; _Johnson's Univ. Cycl._., art. "Martensen."]
[Footnote 2: Martensen's _Christian Ethics (Individual)_, (Eng.
trans.,) pp. 205-226.]
Martensen gives as large prominence as Rothe to love for one's
fellow-man; but he bases that love entirely, as Rothe does not, on
love for Christ. "Only in Christ, and [in] the light which, proceeding
from him, is poured over human nature and all human life, can we love
men in the central sense, and only then does philanthropy receive its
deepest religious and moral character, when it is rooted in the truth
of Christ." And as Christ is Truth, those who are Christ's must never
violate the truth. "'Thou shalt not bear false witness; thou shalt not
lie, neither in word nor deed; thou shalt neither deny the truth, nor
give out anything that is not truth for truth,'--this commandment must
dominate and penetrate all our life's relations." "Truth does not
exist for man's sake, but man for the sake of the truth, because the
truth would reveal itself to man, would be owned and testified
by him." This would seem to be explicit enough to shut out the
possibility of a justifiable lie!
"Yet it does not follow from this," says Martensen, "that our duty to
communicate the truth to others is unlimited.... 'There is a time to
be silent, and a time to speak.' No one is bound to say everything to
everybody." Here he distinguishes between justifiable concealment and
falsehood. Then he comes to the question "whether the so-called 'lie
of exigency' can ever be justifiable." He runs over the arguments on
both sides, and recalls the centuries of discussion on the subject.
He thinks that adherence to the general principle which forbids lying
would, in certain cases where love prompted to falsehood, cause in
most minds an inward feeling that the letter killeth, and that to
follow the promptings of love were better. Hence he argues that "as
in other departments there are actions which, although from the
standpoint of the ideal they are to be rejected, yet, from the
hardness of men's hearts, must be approved and admitted, and under
this restriction become relatively justifiable and dutiful actions,
simply because greater evils are thereby averted; so there is also an
untruth from exigency that must still be allowed for the sake of human
weakness." And in his opinion "it comes to this, that the question of
casuistry cannot be solved by general and abstract directions, but
must be solved in an individual, personal way, especially according to
the stage of moral and religious development and ripeness on which the
person in question is found."
Having made these concessions, in the realm of feeling, to the
defenders of the "lie of exigency," which may be "either uttered from
love to men, or as defense against men--a defense in which either a
justifiable self-love or sympathy with others is operative," Martensen
proceeds to show that every such falsehood is abnormal and immoral.
"When we thus maintain," he says, "that in certain difficult cases an
'untruth from necessity' may occur, which is to be allowed for the
sake of human weakness, and under the given relations may be said to
be justified and dutiful, we cannot but allow, on the other hand, that
in every such untruth there is something of sin, nay something that
needs excuse and forgiveness.... Certainly even the truth of the
letter, the external, actual truth, even the formally correct, finds
its right, the ground of its validity, in God's holy order of the
world. But by every lie of exigency the command is broken, 'Thou shalt
not bear false witness.'"
Martensen protests against the claim of Rothe that a falsehood spoken
in love "is not at all to be called a lie, but can be absolutely
defended as morally _normal_, and so in no respect needs pardon."
"However sharply we may distinguish between lie and untruth
(_mendacium_ and _falsilo-quium_), the untruth in question can never
be resolved into the morally normal." And he suggests that if one had
more of wisdom and courage and faith, he might be true to the truth in
an emergency without fear of the consequences.
"Let us suppose, for instance," he says, "the ... case, where the
husband deceives his sick spouse from fear that she could not survive
the news of the death of her child; who dare maintain that if the man
had been able in the right way, that is in the power of the gospel,
with the wisdom and the comfort of faith, to announce the death of the
child, a religious crisis might not have arisen in her soul, which
might have a healing and quickening effect upon her bodily state? And
supposing that it had even led to her death, who dare maintain that
that death, if it was a Christian death, were an evil, whether for the
mother herself, or for the survivors?
"Or, let us take the woman who, to save her chastity, applies the
defense of an untruth: who dare maintain that if she said the truth to
her persecutors, but uttered it in womanly heroism, with a believing
look to God, with the courage, the elevation of soul springing from
a pure conscience, exhibiting to her persecutors the badness and
unworthiness of their object, she might not have disarmed them by that
might that lies in the good, the just cause, the cause whose defense
and shield God himself will be? And even if she had to suffer what is
unworthy, who dare maintain that she could not in suffering preserve
her moral worth?"
Martensen recalls the story of Jeanie Deans, in Scott's "Heart of
Midlothian," who refuses to tell a lie of exigency in order to save
her sister's life; yet who, having uttered the truth which led to her
sister's sentence of death, set herself, in faith in God, to secure
that sister's pardon, and by God's grace compassed it. "Most people
would at least be disposed to excuse Jeanie Deans, and to forgive
her, if she had here made a false oath, and thereby had afforded her
protection to the higher truth." And if a loving lie of exigency be a
duty before God, an appeal to his knowledge of the fact is, of course,
equally a duty. To refuse to appeal to God in witness of the truth of
a falsehood that is told from a loving sense of duty, is to show a
lack of confidence in God's approval of such an untruth. "But she
will, can, and dare, for her conscience' sake, not do this."
"But the best thing in this tale," adds Martensen, "is that it is
no mere fiction. The kernel of this celebrated romance is actual
history." And Sir Walter Scott caused a monument to be erected in his
garden, with the following inscription, in memory of this faithful
truth-lover:
"This stone was placed by the Author of 'Waverley' in memory of Helen
Walker, who fell asleep in the year of our Lord 1791. This maiden
practiced in humility all the virtues with which fancy had adorned the
character that bears in fiction the name of Jeanie Deans. She would
not depart a foot's breadth from the path of truth, not even to save
her sister's life; and yet she obtained the liberation of her sister
from the severity of the law by personal sacrifices whose greatness
was not less than the purity of her aims. Honor to the grave where
poverty rests in beautiful union with truthfulness and sisterly love."
"Who will not readily obey this request," adds Martensen, "and hold
such a memory in honor?... Who does not feel himself penetrated with
involuntary, most hearty admiration?"
In conclusion, in view of all that can be said on either side of the
question, Martensen is sure that "the lie of exigency itself, which we
call inevitable, leaves in us the feeling of something unworthy, and
this unworthiness should, simply in following Christ, more and more
disappear from our life. That is, the inevitableness of the lie
of exigency will disappear in the same measure that an individual
develops into a true personality, a true character.... A lie of
exigency cannot occur with a personality that is found in possession
of full courage, of perfect love and holiness, as of the enlightened,
all-penetrating glance. Not even as against madmen and maniacs will a
lie of exigency be required, for to the word of the truly sanctified
personality there belongs an imposing commanding power that casts out
demons. It is this that we see in Christ, in whose mouth no guile
was found, in whom we find nothing that even remotely belongs to the
category of the exigent lie."
So it is evident that if one would seek excuse for the lie of
exigency, in the concessions made by Martensen, he must do so only on
the score of the hardness of his heart, and the softness of his head,
as one lacking a proper measure of wisdom, of courage, and of faith,
to enable him to conform to the proper ideal standard of human
conduct. And even then he must recognize the fact that in his weakness
he has done something to be ashamed of, and to demand repentance. Cold
comfort that for a decent man!
It would seem that personal temperament and individual peculiarities
had their part in deciding a man's attitude toward the question of the
unvarying duty of veracity, quite as surely as the man's recognition
of great principles. An illustration of this truth is shown in the
treatment of the subject by Dr. Charles Hodge on the one hand, and by
Dr. James H. Thornwell on the other, as representatives, severally, of
Calvinistic Augustinianism in the Presbyterian Church of the United
States, in its Northern and Southern branches. Starting from the same
point of view, and agreeing as to the principles involved, these two
thinkers are by no means together in their conclusions; and this, not
because of any real difference in their processes of reasoning, but
apparently because of the larger place given by the former to the
influence of personal feeling, as over against the imperative demands
of truth.
Dr. Hodge begins with the recognition and asseveration of eternal
principles, that can know no change or variation in their application
to this question; and then, as he proceeds with its discussion, he is
amiably illogical and good-naturedly inconsistent, and he ends in a
maze, without seeming quite sure as to his own view of the case,
or giving his readers cause to know what should be their view. Dr.
Thornwell, on the other hand, beginning in the same way, proceeds
unwaveringly to the close, in logical consistency of reasoning;
leaving his readers at the last as fully assured as he is as to the
application of unchangeable principles to man's life and duties.
No one could state the underlying principles involved in this question
more clearly and explicitly than does Dr. Hodge at the outset;[1] and
it would seem from this statement that he could not be in doubt as to
the issue of the discussion of this question of the ages. "The command
to keep truth inviolate belongs to a different class [of commands]
from those relating to the sabbath, to marriage, or to property. These
are founded on the permanent relations of men in the present state of
existence. They are not in their own nature immutable. But truth is
at all times sacred, because it is one of the essential attributes of
God, so that whatever militates against or is hostile to truth is in
opposition to the very nature of God."
[Footnote 1: See Hodge's _Systematic Theology_, III., 437-463.]
"Truth is, so to speak, the very substratum of Deity. It is in such a
sense the foundation of all the moral perfections of God, that without
it they cannot be conceived of as existing. Unless God really is what
he declares himself to be; unless he means what he declares himself to
mean; unless he will do what he promises,--the whole idea of God is
lost. As there is no God but the true God, so without truth there is
and can be no God. As this attribute is the foundation, so to speak,
of the divine, so it is the foundation of the physical and moral order
of the universe.... There is, therefore, something awfully sacred in
the obligations of truth. A man who violates the truth, sins against
the very foundation of his moral being. As a false god is no god, so a
false man is no man; he can never be what man was designed to be; he
can never answer the end of his being. There can be in him nothing
that is stable, trustworthy, or good."
Here is a platform that would seem to be the right standing-place for
all and for always. Dr. Hodge apparently recognizes its well-defined
limits and bounds; yet when he comes to discuss the question whether a
certain person is, in a supposable case, on it, or off it, he does not
seem so sure as to its precise boundary lines. He begins to waver
when he cites Bible incidents. Recognizing the fact that fables
and parables, and works of fiction, even though untrue, are not
falsehoods, he strangely jumps to the conclusion that the "intention
to deceive" is "not always culpable." He immediately follows this
non-sequitur with a reference to the lying Hebrew midwives,[1] and he
quotes the declaration of God's blessing on them, as if it were an
approval of their lying, or their false speaking with an intention to
deceive, instead of an approval of their spirit of devotion to God's
people.[2]
[Footnote 1: Exod. I: 19, 20.]
[Footnote 2: Comp. p. 35 f., _supra_.]
From the midwives he passes to Samuel, sent of God to Bethlehem; [1]
and under cover of the expressed opinions of others, Dr. Hodge says
vaguely: "Here, it is said, is a case of intentional deception
commanded. Saul was to be deceived as to the object of Samuel's
journey to Bethlehem." Yet, whoever "said" this was guilty of a
gratuitous charge of intentional deception, against the Almighty.
Samuel was directed of God to speak the truth, so far as he spoke at
all, while he concealed from others that which others had no right to
know.[2] It would appear, however, throughout this discussion, that
Dr. Hodge does not perceive the clear and important distinction
between justifiable concealment from those who have no right to a
knowledge of the facts, and concealment, or even false speaking, with
the deliberate intention of deceiving those interested. In fact, Dr.
Hodge does not even mention "concealment," as apart from its use for
the specific purpose of deception.
[Footnote 1: I Sam. 16: i, 2.]
[Footnote 2: Comp. pp. 38-40, _supra_.]
Again Dr. Hodge cites the incident of Elisha at Dothan[1] as if
in illustration of the rightfulness of deception under certain
circumstances. But in this case it was concealment of facts that might
properly be concealed, and not the deception of enemies as enemies,
that Elisha compassed. The Syrians wanted to find Elisha. Their eyes
were blinded, so that they did not recognize him when in his presence.
In order to teach them a lesson, Elisha told the Syrians that they
could not find him, or the city which was his home, by their own
seeking; but if they would follow him he would bring them to the man
whom they sought. They followed him, and he showed himself to them.
When their eyes were opened in Samaria he would not suffer them to be
harmed, but had them treated as guests, and sent back safely to their
king.
[Footnote 1: Kings 6: 14-20.]
Having cited these three cases, no one of which can fairly be made to
apply to the argument he is pursuing, Dr. Hodge complacently remarks:
"Examples of this kind of deception are numerous in the Old Testament.
Some of them are simply recorded facts, without anything to indicate
how they were regarded in the sight of God; but others, as in the
cases above cited, received either directly or by implication the
divine sanction."
But Dr. Hodge goes even farther than this. He ventures to suggest that
Jesus Christ deceived his disciples by intimating what was not true
as to his purpose, in more than one instance. "Of our blessed
Lord himself it is said in Luke 24:28, 'He made as though [Greek:
prosepoieito]--he made a show of: he would have gone further.' He so
acted as to make the impression on the two disciples that it was
his purpose to continue his journey. (Comp. Mark 6: 48.)"[1] This
suggestion of Dr. Hodge's would have been rebuked by even Richard
Rothe, and would have shocked August Dorner. Would Dr. Hodge deny that
Jesus _could_ have had it in his mind to "go further," or to have
"passed by" his disciples, if they would not ask him to stop? And if
this were a possibility, is it fair to intimate that a purpose of
deception was in his mind, when there is nothing in the text that
makes that a necessary conclusion? Dr. Hodge, indeed, adds the
suggestion that "many theologians do not admit that the fact recorded
in Luke 24:28 [which he cites as an illustration of justifiable
deception by our Lord] involved any intentional deception;" but this
fact does not deter him from putting it forward in this light.
[Footnote 1: When Jesus came walking on the sea, toward his disciples
in their tempest-tossed boat, "he would have passed them by;" but
their cry of fear drew him toward them.]
In the discussion of the application to emergencies, in practical
life, of the eternal principle which he points out at the beginning,
Dr. Hodge is as far from consistency as in his treatment of Bible
narratives. "It is generally admitted," he says, "that in criminal
falsehoods there must be not only the enunciation or signification of
what is false, and an intention to deceive, but also a violation of
some obligation." What obligation can be stronger than the obligation
to be true to God and true to one's self? If, as Dr. Hodge declares,
"a man who violates the truth, sins against the very foundation of his
moral being," a man would seem to be always under an obligation not to
violate the truth by speaking that which is false with an intention to
deceive. But Dr. Hodge seems to lose sight of his premises, in all his
progress toward his conclusions on this subject.
"There will always be cases," he continues, "in which the rule of duty
is a matter of doubt. It is often said that the rule above stated
applies when a robber demands your purse. It is said to be right to
deny that you have anything of value about you. You are not bound to
aid him in committing a crime; and he has no right to assume that
you will facilitate the accomplishment of his object. This is not so
clear. The obligation to speak the truth is a very solemn one; and
when the choice is left a man to tell a lie or lose his money, he
had better let his money go. On the other hand, if a mother sees a
murderer in pursuit of her child, she has a perfect right to mislead
him by any means in her power [including lying?]; because the general
obligation to speak the truth is merged or lost, for the time
being, in the higher obligation." Yet Dr. Hodge starts out with the
declaration that the obligation "to keep truth inviolate," is highest
of all; that "truth is at all times sacred, because it is one of the
essential attributes of God;" that God himself cannot "suspend or
modify" this obligation; and that man is always under its force. And
now, strangely enough, he claims that in various emergencies "the
general obligation to speak the truth is merged, or lost, for the time
being, in the higher obligation." The completest and most crushing
answer to the vicious conclusions of Dr. Hodge as to the varying
claims of veracity, is to be found in the explicit terms of his
unvaryingly correct premises in the discussion.
Dr. Hodge appears to be conscious of his confusion of mind in this
discussion, but not to be quite sure of the cause of it. As to his
claim that the general obligation to speak the truth may be merged for
the time being in a "higher obligation," he says: "This principle is
not invalidated by its possible or actual abuse. It has been greatly
abused." And he adds, farther on, in the course of the discussion:
"The question now under consideration is not whether it is ever right
to do wrong, which is a solecism; nor is the question whether it is
ever right to lie; but rather what constitutes a lie."
Having claimed that a lie necessarily includes falsity of statement,
an intention to deceive, and "a violation of some obligation," Dr.
Hodge goes on to show that "every lie is a violation of a promise,"
as growing out of the nature of human society, where "every man is
expected to speak the truth, and is under a tacit but binding promise
not to deceive his neighbor by word or act." And, after all this, he
is inclined to admit that there are cases in which falsehoods with
the intention of deceiving are not lying, and are justifiable. "This,
however," he goes on to say, "is not always admitted. Augustine, for
example, makes every intentional deception, no matter what the object
or what the circumstances, to be sinful." And then, in artless
simplicity, Dr. Hodge concludes: "This would be the simplest ground
for the moralist to take. But as shown above, and as generally
admitted, there are cases of intentional deception which are not
criminal."