I’d like to address an issue that few seem to care about these days–honesty, and the lack thereof. Look around–the administration in Washington lied many times about Iraq in many ways, and continues to do so. Public figures, not just politicians, lie about their behavior. Companies lie about their profits, and advertisers lie about their products. A survey last year indicated that the average American male will tell three lies in the course of a ten-minute conversation. Women lie, too, but for different reasons–men lie to make themselves look good; women lie to keep relationships going smoothly. All of this is, I think, deplorable, and still more evidence–as if any more were needed–of the decline of what we laughingly call civilization. It wasn’t always this way.
Satan–one of the more useful metaphors of the Judeo-Christian mythos–was once called the Father of Lies. Someone once wrote that to tell a lie was the greatest sin–not that “sin” is part of my reality, but it is, like the mythical Satan, a useful figure of speech. George Washington is said to have never told a lie, but this was itself a lie, perpetrated by one of his biographers. Me–I don’t lie. Not as a rule, anyway. To the best of my knowledge and recollection, I thoughtlessly told one lie this year–to my wife, and recanted the next day. And this bothers me every time I think about it. But as a rule, I don’t lie. At the risk of sounding arrogant, it is simply beneath me. No one and nothing is worth my lowering myself so. To do so would chip away at my hard-won integrity and self-esteem.
I wasn’t always this way, so I must confess to having the zeal of the recently converted in this area. I grew up with an alcoholic father, who lied as naturally as breathing. I learned to lie at an early age. Lying was safer than telling the truth. Years later, I worked in public relations–for the government of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania–and thus was not only a liar, but a professional liar. I was one of those people who told the public that there was nothing to worry about when Three Mile Island darn near melted down. I was one of the people who participated in the Legionnaires’ Disease coverup. Later, I was given a comfortable sinecure in return for keeping quiet about some gross illegalities the governor’s office perpetrated. And still later, as a street peddler in the tourist-trap town of Talkeetna, I told tourists that the hematite necklaces made in China that I sold were ,in fact, handmade in Alaska. The profit was great, but the cost to my soul was greater.
Fairly recently, I transcended most of my addictions, and got serious about becoming a decent human being. The process included a great deal of painful–and honest–soul-searching therapy. Today, I spend time on a daily basis in reading, prayer and meditation with the aim of furthering my spiritual growth. My goal is nothing less than spiritual perfection, and I aspire to attain it at some point during this lifetime. I do this not in fear of some nonexistent afterlife punishment, or in hopes of some equally nonexistent afterlife reward. I do this because I accept that it is my job to create myself, to live up to my greatest and grandest and most noble conception of myself. Anything less just won’t do.
My intent is to create a heaven on earth for myself and those I come in contact with, on a daily basis. Some days I manage it; some days I don’t. Some days I am radiantly happy, despite living with pain, poverty and disability. When I am less than radiant, I don’t kid myself, or anyone else. This causes awkward moments, however. Like in a checkout line–the clerk says brightly “How are you?” and I might reply–honestly–”Terrible. Thanks for asking.”
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