As I write this, a medley of pundits are calling for the impeachment of the President of the United States. Why? Because of lying.   Not lying about committing a crime.  Not lying about government.  Lying about sex.  
   
     Since the emergence of "Zippergate,"  "Clinton’s Folly," "Monica’s Fantasy," or whatever you call it, experts have proclaimed indignantly, It's not the sex that's so awful.  It's the lying. As if only criminals lie about sex.   As if sexual frankness were a cornerstone of democracy.  

       In this world, especially in this highly sexed yet erotophobic culture of ours, we are all taught to lie about sex.  From our first furtive, chastised explorations of our private parts, parents, religion and society converge upon us, practically demanding  that we lie about our erotic desires and "cover up" almost all our sexual activities.  Of course, lying is generally wrong.  But our civilization supports it, especially with regard to sex and other easily misinterpreted complexities of private life.  It’s one of the many ways in which a dash of duplicity goes hand-in-glove with sociopolitical  survival.  
   
      Lying under oath about sex, like any kind of lying under oath, is illegal, but it’s understandable, and perjurers aren’t, for the most part, punished for their "crimes."  Indeed, the more that government and the media invade our personal lives, the more a certain degree of dishonesty becomes excusable.  Sometimes, in unconscionably intrusive situations, or where the interrogator is sure to mishandle the truth, lying may even be the right thing to do.  
   
      I have mixed feelings about this.  In my own work as a sex therapist and educator, I fight to open up society to the truth about sex, to get people to be more honest.   I wish we lived in a world in which Bill and Hillary and Monica and Ken and you and me could be totally open and honest about our sexual interests and activities.   I wish sexual honesty were always the best policy.   It would make my job a lot easier.  
   
     But when I look at the state of our culture, so ignorant and judgmental of sex, so quick to condemn or at least ridicule any sexual behavior that is a little to the left of the straight-and-narrow-monogamous- missionary-position-sex-only-within-marriage gospel, I can’t recommend total honesty — even when pressed — about one’s sexuality.  
   
     For instance, should one of my sex therapy patients, a fire fighter, honestly answer his boss’ questions about what he does at night by admitting that after a long, hard day fighting fires, he kicks back in nylons and a babydoll nighty?  Should another of my patients, a happily married mother of three, be honest with her family about her occasional dreams of having wild sex with her sister’s husband?  
   
     I wouldn’t recommend honesty in either case.  It’s not that the fireman’s crossdressing hobby or the mom’s erotic brother-in-law fantasy are evil or wrong.  It’s not that by lying about their sexual interests, they’re covering up a crime or sin or even a bad habit.  On the contrary, their desires are pretty normal and harmless, when dealt with responsibly.  But where is the good in telling the truth about these controversial, mostly misunderstood, grossly punishable sexual secrets?  
   
     The village elders of modern times may not make you wear a scarlet "A" on your chest;  they have other ways to brand you.  Those scandal watchers who say, "Well, if the President had sex with her, he must tell the truth" should ask themselves if in this culture, it's possible to announce that you practice an alternative (what society calls "deviant") form of sex, and then go back to running--or just living in--this country.  
   
     If, as rumor has it, Bill and Hillary have some sort of open relationship arrangement, and if Monica was somehow a part of that, it's not so simple to admit this to the likes of Kenneth Starr and his $30 million witch hunt.  Should Jews or homosexuals have told the truth  to the Gestapo?  Should the Marranos have told the truth to the Spanish Inquisitors?  
   
      I believe in honesty.  Actually, I have a reputation for being unusually open and honest about my own personal life--which often gets me into trouble!  But I wouldn’t have told Tomas de Torquemada that I lit Hanukkah candles.  I wouldn’t have told Joe McCarthy that I attended a Communist Party soiree.  I wouldn’t tell Jesse Helms that I smoke an occasional Havana cigar.   I wouldn’t tell a mugger that I keep my billfold in my bra.  And I wouldn’t tell Ken Starr the details of my sex life.  
   
     In certain situations, when the questioner cannot be trusted, the "best policy," both practically and morally, is to lie.

Is honesty always the best policy? Yes. For me as a surgeon there has been no alternative. Integrity is an important, perhaps the most important attribute of a good physician. Lying to one's self is delusional and unproductive: lying to patients is destructive to the essential doctor-patient relationship; furthermore, I have found that patients who are seriously or terminally ill usually already suspect or are fully aware of their dire condition. A doctor who evades or lies to his patient about this has lost his right to be trusted and thus his effectiveness as a caregiver. To my knowledge, no patients have ever left me because I had been honest with them. 
  
Sometimes it is difficult to be honest and still maintain a friendship, but I am confident that an estrangement caused by an honest statement would be short-lived; in the long run, the truth is more often appreciated, especially when it is expressed with good will and the friendship is reinforced. If a truthful answer or comment appears to be confrontational. I have learned that holding my tongue avoids the appearance of arrogance without having to lie just to make the friend feel good. This, in my opinion, is often especially pertinent in a marriage. 
  
Dishonesty boomerangs. A lie requires more lies to be consistent in maintaining the fiction of the original one. Whenever I have lied or have been less than honorable, I have invariably been left with a vague feeling of unrest: I do not have an explanation for this discomfort; it is the pricking of the "conscience" God has given me and all humans. 
  
At times I have been tempted to tell patients that they would recover, when, in fact, I was quite sure they probably would not: but this would be just an "ego-trip" for me, and it might well cause a patient to neglect some needed preparation for the adverse outcome of the illness or injury. I have never lied to my patients. 
  
It was my privilege several years ago to have a 65-year-old professor of surgery as a patient. He had been referred to me by a colleague whom I had known during my years as a fellow in surgery. The professor had had a thorough diagnostic work-up resulting in a diagnosis of cancer of the stomach, which had likely already spread widely. The referring physician advised surgery and suggested that, even if I did find the suspected metastases, it might be wise to excise what I could of the primary tumor so I could tell the patient that his cancer was operable and that I had removed it. His motive, I was sure, was an understandable concern for our patient, reasoning that it would boost his morale and make his remaining time on earth more tolerable. The surgery unfortunately turned out to be merely exploratory, for there were extensive metastases in the liver and beyond. Biopsy and closure were completed in just a few minutes. I consider a surgical operation a moment of truth," for both me and for the patient; therefore, I intended to tell the professor the true result and probable prognosis of his illness. This highly intelligent man beat me to it however, when I came to his bedside in the intensive care unit, he had just regained consciousness. His first words to me were, "Chuck, I have been sure for some time that I had hepatic metastasis. Were there more in my belly?" In this way, he took me "off the hook," so I could tell him the truth freely, that the spread of the cancer was extensive, that I had no recommendation other than that over the next several months (this was hopeful optimism. not really lying) he would be treated with radiation, chemotherapy, and adequate analgesia. I so informed the patient's family. His son, also a surgeon, told me he appreciated my candor, that both he and his father quite cognizant of his condition, and the poor prognosis was not unexpected. 
  
Being aware of ultimate effects of dishonesty, deceit, untrustworthiness, lying, should impel an insightful person to try to take the straight path to probity without deviation, for even minor untruth can sometimes lead to significant disagreeable uneasiness. 
  
I do not buy the argument, often posed, that frequently deceitfulness is a necessity in order to escape punishment, to advance one's career, to gain power, to further romance, etc. I see this as just a trade-off: choosing short-term gratification from the deception in exchange for the more distant future ease-of-mind from honesty. It is never a good bargain. 
 

This essay attempts to resolve the question of honesty always being the best policy. I firmly believe that it is. In order to prove how strong my conviction is, I must tell you about my own experiences with honesty. 
  
My dealings with the question of honesty go back as long as I can remember. However, recent incidents stick out in my mind because of the impact they had on my life. The first of these occurred last summer, as I realized a dream I had since I was in third grade. I had given away my car and civilian clothes, and reported to the United States Naval Academy to study to be an office and flyer. I knew where I was going, and what I would be doing for the next nine years, 
   
Although the long hours and the constant challenges of "Plebe Summer" at the Naval Academy were trying. I loved every second of it. I was chosen as squad leader, and practiced well enough on the football field to be singled out by the coaches for possible varsity play, a real achievement for a freshman. At a company trip to the Academy's dental office, however, we were told to fill out a questionnaire. This questionnaire asked us to respond, yes or no, about various ailments such as glaucoma, epilepsy, motion sickness, and other health concerns. There was also a box labeled HEMOPHILIA. I knew I had been diagnosed with this rare blood-clotting condition at birth, but had never been bothered by it. I also knew that my otherwise perfect health might not matter if I checked yes in this box. 
  
The dental officer standing near me saw that I checked yes and sent me to Bethesda Naval Hospital, where doctors drew many rubes of blood to determine if I was commissionable as a naval officer. At the end of Plebe Summer, I was told that I could not be commissioned due to my mild, permanent condition of hemophilia, and I would have to leave the Academy. I came back home, my life long plans for both my education and career destroyed, Moorhead State was the only school] kind enough to accept me into college at such a late date. 
  
After a couple of months, I tried to get in touch with college football coaches, since I had been heavily recruited before signing with the Naval Academy, The University of Minnesota coaches viewed my videotape and said they would save a spot on the Gopher team for me. I drove from my home in Fargo to Minneapolis, where I met the coaches and took a tour of the campus. When they asked about health issues. I answered honestly, and the team doctor put my hopes on hold again. 
  
Also, on the way back. I hit a patch of ice on the interstate and spun out of control I flipped my new car twice as I rolled into the ditch, causing severe damage to the car. After a few minutes, a highway patrolman showed up. One of his questions was the infamous "How Fast were you going?" I told him honestly that I was going about 75 miles an hour, five miles over the speed limit, He wasted no time in charging me with inattentive driving, making the incident an at-fault accident, raising my insurance rates drastically, costing a $500 deductible and a fine. 
  
A person would think I am crazy to argue that honesty is always the best policy, after having the experiences I have had. I don't know any 19-year-old who has suffered more, and benefited less, from honesty. I firmly believe that honesty is always the best policy though. Honesty and integrity are like bullets, once you fire them off, you never get them back. If a person knows that you are a liar, they will always wonder whether you are telling the truth. But if you give "the hard truth" over the easy lie, people know you stand for something. The more people know about the choices I make, the more people know that I stand for what I believe in, no matter what the cost to me. It is something I welcome and take pride in. If you don't have integrity, it won't matter what school, career, or possessions you have. Honesty is one of the few things that can never be taken away, even if it is tempting to give it away-and sometimes hard to keep. 
 

The question of honesty is one that bedevils many people who struggle to act ethically in real-life situations where people are in great need. Rigorous honesty can belie a kind of legalism that can get in the way of acting compassionately. Does being honest outweigh other moral factors? I think that honesty is not always the best policy. 
  
From earliest childhood I was taught to be honest. One of the first civic lessons, I can remember is the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree, then confessing his actions to his father with the statement: "I cannot tell a lie." Yet this moral law was almost immediately shaded by a childhood game in which one had to respond truthfully to any question that was asked. My classmates' interests were decidedly prurient, and I soon felt telling the truth was not always such a good idea. I can still vividly remember the day the question was asked in a Jr. High School class: "If you were hiding a Jew during World War II and a Nazi soldier came to the door and asked if you were hiding a Jew, what would you say." If one could conceive of telling a lie in that instance, might there be other circumstances where a lie would be the best thing? 
  
During the time I was serving as an assistant minister in a church. I met a homeless man who was desperately seeking to shake an addiction to alcohol and drugs. He asked me for assistance in getting into a treatment program. Living in the shelter was a very hard place to maintain sobriety. Innocently, I began to call the local detox facilities, only to learn that there were no beds available for a sober man seeking help. Emergency beds were available only for people who were intoxicated and posed a threat to themselves and others. Time after time I was told that he could make an appointment and come for evaluation: inevitably, the next available time for an evaluation would be weeks away. When I explained the man was homeless, they were indifferent to the hardship a two or three-week wait would pose. I worked all day to try and find a place for the man to get immediate help. He went back to the shelter that night, and I promised to meet him the next morning. I continued to canvass agencies and sought the help of friends: neither I nor my friends were prepared to shelter a homeless man for a week or two until he could be admitted into a program, yet his desire for help was a very compelling reason for me to do all that I could. The next day, I met the man and we sat in a park to assess his predicament. Finally, I asked him if he minded lying a little to get immediate help. I bought a bottle of beer and drank most of it then giving him a swig from the bottle; I sprayed the dregs on his clothing. A few minutes later, I presented the man at the emergency detox center. The nurse who answered the door listened to my story that I had just met the man in a drunken stupor and wanted to place him immediately. He staggered towards her cooperatively, and she smelled the beer on his breath and clothing. He was admitted without further question. The next day, I called and spoke to him and learned that our ruse had been discovered. Since he'd already been admitted to the detox center, a place had been found for him in a therapeutic community. A year later, he called to tell me he had finished the program and was getting married to a woman he’d met in the program. 
   
To be scrupulously honest in the above situation most likely would have resulted in the man not receiving help. At the heart of my religious tradition, Jesus is understood to have confronted the legalistic honesty of the Pharisees, which masked a profound indifference to the needs of common people. 

I believe that honest is very important, yet it must be tempered by a compassionate assessment of the cost of being honest versus the cost of telling a lie. I wonder if we don't use honesty as a moral stick to lever less wholesome preoccupations into public consideration, like the playground "truth sessions" that caused so much unhappiness as children teased each other about personal and often humiliating information. Compassion is an adult virtue that some children never learn.