Honesty is not a proxy for truth

“Just being honest.” We’ve all heard the phrase – or some variation of it – before. It’s commonly used in the context of forcing others to face what is considered to be a hard “truth.” When we hear this from any self-professed “straight shooter,” we tend to assume that, if they’re being honest – if they believe what they’re saying to be true – well, then, they can’t be wrong. But let’s be clear: honesty is not a proxy for truth.

In today’s politics, the problem of mistaking honesty for truth is particularly acute. Such confusion has infected and eroded our public discourse around significant issues. When our political allies espouse things we believe in, rather than questioning them, we immediately presume they’re right. Meanwhile, we presume the worst intentions of our political opponents who propound things that are untrue, instead of considering if, like us, they too might be overly convinced of their own correctness. 

Addressing this tendency in politics to overemphasize honesty, at the expense of truth, will help cure the divisiveness and discord that plagues this country, and allow us to have more constructive conversations about what’s true and what isn’t and become better informed as citizens.{mosads}

Unlike our political system, our legal system has clearly internalized the conceptual difference between honesty and truth in a number of important ways. By understanding how the law internalizes this conceptual difference, we can better understand how politics can do the same.

Honesty and truth, as distinct concepts, are integral to the legal claim of “fraud.” The claim that someone has defrauded you cannot be proven without showing that they were dishonest and untruthful. If a person is “just being honest” with you and says, but doesn’t intend to say, something untrue, they can’t be liable for fraud.

As the U.S. Supreme Court made clear in one of its early opinions: “Fraud means an intention to deceive. If there was no such intention; if the party honestly stated his own opinion, believing at the time that he stated the truth, he is not liable in this form of action, although the representation turned out to be entirely untrue.” (Conversely, if a person doesn’t honestly believe what they’re telling you is true, but it turns out to be, they also can’t be liable for fraud.)

This conceptual difference also explains why, in court proceedings, the results of polygraph examinations and lie detector tests have limited evidentiary value. In refusing to admit such results in a criminal case, then-district judge (now-Supreme Court Justice) Sonia Sotomayor wrote that the results would only evidence the accused’s “personal belief” in his own innocence and would not help “find the facts.”

Law Professor Richard Underwood, an expert on evidence, similarly wrote that these tests “can claim only to detect symptoms of emotions consistent with the examinee’s belief in the truth of his or her answers.” Put simply, the prevailing wisdom is that polygraphs and lie detectors can test a person’s honest belief of what happened, but not the truth of it. Largely because courts are concerned this distinction will be lost on a jury, they tend to exclude such evidence at trial.

More generally, judges understand that the winning party isn’t always the most convincing, but rather the one who is right (or, at least, more right) on both the law and the facts. Honesty, of course, matters in ascertaining the truth in any case. But, at the end of the day, the truth must prevail.

Our legal system draws a clear line between the concepts of honesty and truth. Why not our political system? By understanding this conceptual difference, we can see how it potentially distorts the dissemination of information in our public discourse, and maybe then find ways to properly address the problems it creates.

Take, for example, the primary purveyors of political information: Politicians. They are often vilified as being “dishonest.” But perhaps the reality is that many of them are being “honest” with us; they’re just not being “truthful.”

They may believe what they’re telling us is true, even if it’s not. After all, information from an uninformed source (or one that doesn’t have all the facts) can still be honestly conveyed in good faith, even if it’s untrue.

This brand of political messaging isn’t fraud, but, in a way, it’s equally, if not more, dangerous. Spreading an untruth – a falsehood – about an important political or social issue, with the imprimatur of conviction, is more likely to convince others in this country to believe and propagate that same untruth or falsehood. It potentially creates a larger pattern of honest belief in things that aren’t true, which makes it all the more difficult for us as a society to discern the things that are true.

Instead of overvaluing the philosophy of “just being honest,” we should aspire to knowing the truth and demand that others, especially our public servants, do the same. 

While we should still value those who believe what they say and speak honestly, it’s more important that we should value those who believe and speak the truth. There are plenty of straight shooters in the world, but far fewer truth tellers.

Justin Lo is Associate General Counsel for the Financial Services Divisions of the Virginia State Corporation Commission, and previously litigated securities fraud and other government and white collar cases at Sullivan & Cromwell and Spears & Imes in New York. He is a graduate of Yale Law School. The views expressed in this op-ed are the author’s own and do not reflect the position of his current or former employers.