Literature and the Law The Honesty of Others

The Importance of Honesty

It is not just honesty that matters—but also ethics and virtue. A killer can be honest. That does not necessarily make him a good man or one with integrity. Truthfulness is a good character trait to have—but as Vole shows one can perhaps even deceive oneself into thinking one is being honest when one is not. It appears that Vole is an example of the latter: he seems to have convinced himself that he has done nothing wrong, and thus he is able to come across as so genuinely innocent.

If somebody is convinced of his own innocence or guilt, does that make it so? I think we draw the line on considering people’s honesty and integrity in a very relativistic way. No one really likes to think about universal truth or ultimate guilt or innocence. We all tend to judge ourselves honest more or less—even though we might not be 100% truthful with others or even with ourselves all of the time. We are more likely to be quicker to judge others for not being honest than we are ourselves. In other words, we expect others to be honest—but when it comes to our own actions, we are willing to let ourselves slide here and there if we think it doesn’t hurt anyone.

We also like to think that honesty is an important part of character. We want our employers to be honest. We want our family members to be honest. We expect our friends to be honest. Yet, we have a sliding scale for honesty: we give ourselves more leeway than we tend to give others. We hold other people to a high standard and don’t even question whether we ourselves meet that standard.

When it comes to judging honesty in others and in ourselves we tend to just assume that others and we ourselves are being honest. It is usually not until others or we get caught out in a lie that judgment begins. Even though we might tell big or little lies ten times a week, if somebody is caught out lying it suddenly means there is not more trust.

The justice system in the UK is perhaps more forgiving than we as individuals are. The justice system may try to rehabilitate offenders, but we don’t lose track of them: we see their offenses on their records. We take note. We may forgive, but we don’t forget. It is a trust issue. We are okay with a little dishonesty here and there so long as it remains hidden. We don’t want to have to think about it. When it is exposed, we are scandalized (if it is others) or ashamed (if it is ourselves). For whatever reason, we would prefer not to have to know about the dishonesty of others, because when we are made aware of it, it muddies our view of things for some reason. We find ourselves troubled—like Mr. Mayherne at the end of Agatha Christie’s story. He wants to believe in Vole’s innocence—and he simply cannot comprehend that he is guilty and that someone else would use deception to free a guilty person.

In a way, Christie's story reveals our superficial judgments of honesty. The fact that the U.K.’s criminal justice system tries to balance competing objectives by protecting the innocent, having fair trials, rehabilitating offenders, and keeping people out of prison, shows that we ourselves as a society don’t really know what to make of this moral issue of honesty vs. dishonesty. We are seemingly divided. Even the principle that “criminal prosecution should remain a last resort” acknowledges the weakness of evidence and testimony, especially when honesty is in question. Vole’s case shows how personal feelings can distort perceptions of truth.