You can probably just tell the truth much more often than you think
On white lies, tactful honesty, and why most people’s intuitions here are (understandably) incorrect
When I came across Sam Harris in 2017, it felt like I had — for the first time — found someone whose views aligned almost perfectly with mine. But one of his core beliefs did not mesh with my intuitions: he thought lying was almost always wrong. I believed “white lies” were ethical and sometimes preferable.
His book on lying changed my mind. Mostly.
I still hold the consequentialist view that it’s ethical to lie if doing so will plausibly lead to better outcomes for all relevant conscious creatures. But Sam convinced me of something I think most people miss: in many situations where lying seems like it will lead to the best outcomes, telling some tactful version of the truth will actually achieve a better one. This isn’t automatically true in all situations, but it’s true far more often than we think.
Some examples:
Your partner asks if something they did bothered you, and you say “it’s fine” to avoid conflict. In the moment, this feels like the kind choice. But now you’ve deprived them of information they need to understand you, and you’ve trained yourself to suppress rather than communicate. The small discomfort of saying “yeah, actually, when you did X it frustrated me because Y” is almost always preferable to the slow accumulation of unspoken resentments.
A friend asks for feedback on their creative project and you don’t think it’s good. The white lie (”I loved it!”) feels generous, but it robs them of the chance to improve, might prevent them from accomplishing their creative goals, and primes them to distrust potential genuine praise in the future.
A friend asks if you want to hang out and you don’t. You say “I can’t, I have plans” instead of “I’m honestly just not feeling up for it tonight.” The lie works in the moment, but now you’ve established a pattern where your friend can never quite tell if you actually want to see them or are just being polite. The truth — even just “I need a night to recharge” — gives them something real to work with.
Your CEO asks how a project is going and you’re behind. You say “making good progress” to buy yourself time. But now you’ve eliminated the possibility of getting help, resetting expectations, or flagging a systemic problem. The uncomfortable conversation you’re avoiding will only get more uncomfortable when the deadline arrives.
Truth-telling is the communication equivalent of growing pains — it often hurts initially, but almost always leads to self-correction and positive development, leaving us healthier and more agentic.
This is most true in communications with people with whom we intend to have long-term relationships. If you lie to a random shopkeeper you’re never going to interact with again, it’s far less damaging than if you lie to your spouse or child. Many people tragically fail to consider this, and lie most often to the people they most love. This is an understandable, fear-based behavior. But that doesn’t make it optimal.
I’m not suggesting you go around delivering brutal honesty to everyone you meet without any regard for the likely impact of your words. But the next time you’re about to tell a small lie to someone you care about, it might be worth pausing to ask: is there a tactful version of the truth that would actually serve both of us better in the long run?
The answer, surprisingly often, will be yes.
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