It’s hard for me to condemn liars when I’ve been such a liar myself

I’ve been dealing with someone lately whose dishonesty is costing me a couple thousand dollars. Maybe a bit more.

I really want to be angry at him. I want to be bitter. I want to stone him — figuratively speaking — for what he’s done to me.

But I can’t throw this stone at him, because I’ve been a liar, too.

It’s hard for me to angrily attack someone else’s dishonesty — because my past hypocrisy shouts back and points its finger at me.

The longer I live, the more I understand that honesty is a fundamental value that goes to the core of what a person is. That sounds like something from a Boy Scout pledge or maybe a Sunday school lesson, but it’s genuinely foundational to a person’s character.

I haven’t always known this for myself, even though I would have given lip service to the principle all along.

I’ve told you before that I learned to be a very good liar as I grew up. I learned the nuances of lying — and the justifications for it — from the master liar who raised me. I was really good at it. And I didn’t see the contradiction in my life, much less the fracture it caused in my values and in my heart.

So what does all that mean when someone lies to me today?

I’m human enough that my first reaction is to be self-righteous and judgmental. My reaction is very emotional.

It makes me angry to think someone believes he’s tricking me. It makes me feel as though he thinks I’m a fool or an idiot.

With the situation I’m dealing with right now, I have proof that this person is lying. I can show that his actions have damaged me. Because of that, my first reaction is to start calling a lawyer and making plans to sue him.

That was what I started thinking in this case. I was gathering documentation to send to my lawyer. I was really going to show this guy that he couldn’t make me a fool. He couldn’t cheat me.

But two things stop me.

First, it might easily cost me as much money to go after him as I might recover. Would it be worth all the mental effort and time involved to go after $2,000? Would I end up spending that much just on consultations with a good attorney?

It seems as though legal action could easily be counterproductive in the long run, even if we assume I’d win.

Second, I have to deal with the voice in my head that knows I’m a hypocrite. That voice knows that when I was this man’s age, I might have done the same thing he did, not because it’s right, but because I would have wanted to get away with the same thing he did.

I remember specific times in my life when I’ve lied to avoid consequences. I’m not talking about the lies of a 9-year-old. I’m talking about the lies of an adult on a job to deflect responsibility for things that should have gotten him fired.

I’ve decided that losing this money is just a fairly inexpensive lesson not to do business with this man. I’ve cut the small remaining connections I had with him and I’m moving on with my life.

Every person has to decide what his values are. What’s even more important is deciding whether you’re serious about those values or not. It’s easy to claim morals or ethics or values. It’s far harder to live them out when simple lies would save you money.

Here’s the thing.

I’m not really a good person. I try really hard to be what I consider good. I do. But I know that if I’m faced with the right set of incentives, I can violate my stated values, too.

It shames me to admit that, but I know how hopelessly human I am.

I’ve done my share of lying in the past. I’ve shaded the truth to avoid responsibility. I’ve made up fictions to avoid admitting things I’d done.

I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t think I’ve done anything like that for quite a while. But I know there’s a tiny, hidden part of my heart in which I can still be a liar if the circumstances are right.

As for the man whose dishonesty have cost me some money, I’ve adjusted my attitude in the last couple of days.

I genuinely wish him well. I’ve gotten past the bitterness and the anger. I’m not going to hold onto it. For his sake, I hope he learns the value of honesty far more quickly than I did.

But with as much empathy for him as I can muster, I’m letting it go.