The secular case for being honest

A lie is an attempt to fake the existence of something, or to pretend that something real does not exist. When one lies, one is faking reality. A person may lie when he says he was not on Epstein’s island, but he was. A person may lie when he says he is not having an affair, but he is. A child may lie when she says she did not eat the chocolate, but she did.

Most people grow up hearing that “lying is bad,” but the reasons they are given are often unconvincing.

Many people say you must not lie because God gave us the Ten Commandments. They say: “Follow His commandments, or He will punish you.” Those who believe in this grow up afraid of lying. They do not know why lying is bad; they simply fear divine punishment.

Others offer a better argument that does not rely on a supernatural entity no one can identify. They say: “Don’t lie, because you can get caught. People will stop trusting you.”

This is a compelling argument because it is true. Nobody trusts liars, and therefore people become afraid to rely on what they say. The liar’s life becomes more difficult because trading values with others gets more difficult. If I give my son that argument, he will understand it.

But I do not offer my son a religious education. So I know that eventually he will ask himself: “What if I can get away with a lie?” This is where more sophistication is required to truly understand why not lying is crucial for one’s life.

So the argument against lying must be more sophisticated than simply “you will lose people’s trust.”

When I was a teenager, I played competitive tennis. There were no external line judges, as in professional tournaments. The rule was simple: each player calls the lines on his own side. If the ball bounces on your side and you believe it was out, you call “out,” and the opponent must accept it.

So what happens when the court is isolated, no one is watching, it is match point, the ball lands on the line, and the player who benefits from calling it “out” is the one responsible for making the call?

I witnessed many people call “out” knowing perfectly well the ball was in.

I remember that when I played, I never felt good about lying, even if I knew I would benefit immediately and get away with it. But why didn’t it feel right? I am the son of a Jewish mother, but I know it was not because of God. Something else was happening.

When I introspect, I realize that I always had a desire to feel that I am good. I wanted to win the match and know that I truly won it. This mattered to me because it built my confidence for future matches. I wanted to be able to say to myself: “I can succeed.”

Self‑esteem was a value for me, even though I did not yet know the concept. I learned its importance later.

This, to me, is another valid argument for not lying. I call it the psychological value of honesty. Lying detaches a person from reality. If someone lies constantly, he must lie again to justify the first lie. His long‑term vision shrinks. His psychological integrity erodes. His ability to integrate knowledge and stay connected to what is true deteriorates. When this happens, a person feels less in control because he must juggle both his lies and the facts. It becomes exhausting, and anxiety grows.

So my argument to my son would go like this: “Do you want to be a happy person and sleep well at night? If yes, avoid lying - To others, and even more importantly, to yourself” (I would also explain to him what are the circumstances when it is appropriate to lie. This is where even more thought is needed, but here there is an answer too).

Some people may say this is just my personal limitation, and that they lie and feel perfectly fine. All I can say is that they have no idea what true serenity and happiness are, and never will. They may call me naïve or silly. I feel sorry for them. I think liars are miserable beings, and they had better not lie to me and let me discover it. Because I also do not buy the religious notion of unconditional love or “turning the other cheek”.