(Exodus 20:1-17)
We have all, I think, been in that no win situation where a friend or, worse yet, a spouse asks us what we think of their new outfit and then they tack on the killer, “now, be honest.” Really?! Do you actually want me to be honest, or are you just saying that to be polite? What if I don’t like it, but I know you really do? Should I be honest and ruin your retail therapy or should I tell you what I know you would like me to say and ignore the courteous request? I mean isn’t there a difference between being truthful and saying everything that goes through your mind without concern for the consequences to yourself and/or others? This very question, or a derivative thereof, is the source – I believe – of the “little white lie.”
An idea that British comedian and actor Ricky Gervais plays to his advantage in a 2009 comedian he wrote and directed titled, The Invention of Lying. In the prologue to the movie, Gervais describes the ability to lie as leading to: … the birth of imagination itself, storytelling, religion, and the oh-so-important polite lie, as in, “Oh, Patty, have you lost weight? You look fantastic.”
In other words, the film invites us to consider untruth as fundamental to creativity and culture: to the capacity to think in new ways and to relate positively to others. And before you reject that thought out of hand, it is worth asking what creativity is, if not the ability to imagine and express something that isn’t.
The film may be lightweight, but its writer and director are not. He took a degree in philosophy and has acquitted himself well in debates with Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, himself an internationally renowned academic and intellectual. Ricky Gervais is an atheist, and a very persuasive one. In this film, he treats belief in God as something impossible without the uniquely human ability to subvert truth in order to exert power over ourselves or others. Belief in God, he suggests, is a kind of soothing self-deceit. There’s nothing new to that idea. But what is new here is the idea that the capacity to lie is essential to creativity. And if that is the case, belief in a God of truth as creator is absurd.
So, are we right to insist that our creator God cannot lie? The Bible certainly does. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is the God of truth: “The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy” (Proverbs 12:22). In the New Testament, His truthfulness is essential to His being. In John’s Gospel, Jesus says of Himself that He is “the truth;” He describes the Holy Spirit as “the Spirit of truth;” says of the Father that He can only be worshipped in truth; and that the father’s word is truth. In the epistles we read that “God … does not lie” (Titus 1:2), that it is “impossible for God to lie” (Hebrews 6:18), and that He alone is uniquely truthful – “let God be true in every human being a liar” (Romans 3:4).
But if we take the Ricky Gervais definition of lying as “saying something that isn’t,” then God’s inability to lie is called into question. Because the very first chapter of the Bible features little other than God saying things that aren’t. He speaks of light when there has only ever been darkness; He speaks of life when there has only ever been emptiness. God has this creative capacity to imagine and say things that do not correspond to the existing reality.
Is that a lie? Well, the writer of Genesis did not seem to think so, because he is at pains to point out that every time God said something, reality was in a hurry to conform itself to the word of God that had been spoken. “Let there be light,” says God, “and there was light,” replies the newly minted universe. Far from God’s creativity being a challenge to His truthfulness, it is instead a demonstration of its power. The normal order is reversed. When I speak, my words are true if they conform to reality. When God speaks, His words are true because reality must follow.
It would be easy to be misled by this line of argument though. And in the Middle Ages, for instance, theologians and philosophers almost went so far as to suggest that God’s goodness (and within that, His truthfulness) were simply expressions of His power. So, there were those who insisted that if God suddenly decided that torturing kittens was a good thing, then it would become a good thing period (well, they might not have put it in exactly those terms, but you get the idea.)
This all comes down to an ancient problem posed by the philosopher Plato. The question can be put like this: “is the good good because God wills it or does God will the good because it is good?” In other words, is there a standard outside God to which He conforms, or is it all just arbitrary (that is: a matter of will)? Even though the question seems to be a dilemma (that is, that either one or the other option must be true), neither of these options quite work to describe God’s relationship to the true and to the good.
Instead, we must say that both are simultaneously true, but only when held together. God wills the good because it is good, and it is good because He wills it. This is because God’s own being is the definition of goodness. He is the yardstick against which every claim to goodness or truth is measured. He cannot even be tempted to do evil, because His own goodness prevents it, He cannot lie, because He is truth, and so everything He does is in accordance with the truth and all that is true derives from Him.
The flaw in the logic of The Invention of Lying is that Gervais puts the cart before the horse. It is true that a person cannot lie if they do not have the ability to imagine things that aren’t. In that sense there is a relationship between the two. But it is not the capacity to lie that is essential to creation; it is the capacity to create that is essential to lying. Lying comes from a misuse of an otherwise good faculty.
This is in fact true of every kind of evil. Take the area of sex as an example. Sex is good. The human drive to reproduce reflects the very first commandment given to humanity: go forth and multiply. The “one flesh” union of Adam and Eve was part of the quintessential goodness of the pre-fall world. But that capacity for attraction and connection, present in the sexual impulse, can so easily be used for evil. There is more evidence of that in pretty much any day’s news cycle than there is in the whole of the Bible. The percentage of women who have suffered some sort of sexual assault, for example, is staggering and appalling. All sin involves, in one way or another, a twisting or a denial of something good.
So, it is with the lie. The ability to speak is good. The capacity for creation and imagination is good. Indeed, both these things are reflections of God’s character. But these things can be twisted to evil ends. We know for example, that the world was doomed by a lie. The lie is fundamentally an act of violence. Jesus says that “the devil … was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). It is very intriguing to see lies and murder put together in this way. But when we remember that all of reality is established by God’s truthful speech, it makes sense that any attempt to subvert that reality by untruthful speech should be seen as fundamentally destructive.
So, when we learn that God cannot lie, what we are observing once again is His goodness. He will not lie for the same reason that He will not judge unjustly or try to trick or tempt you into failure. His truthfulness is both a mark and an expression of His character as the generous giver of life and all good things. The whole story of the world begins by giving life and beauty and bounty to His creatures. He does all this by speaking.
God’s inability to lie is a real personal significance to us. Consider again Hebrews 6:18, where we are told that it is impossible for God to lie. What’s striking is the context. The writer is talking about the incident in the Old Testament when God promised to bless Abraham and his descendants, which by faith includes us. Here is how we can know that God will deliver on that promise:
16People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. 17Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. 18God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. 19We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, 20 where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.
Take a moment to think on that truth. God has made an unchangeable, unshakable promise that we can build our lives on. Some people feel that a promise must be a pretty insecure foundation to base everything on. After all, how can you be sure a promise will be kept? But if the God who cannot lie has gone so far as to swear an oath on himself to secure that promise, then there is nothing firmer or more real imaginable. God swearing an oath on himself is the most wonderful virtuous circle. His word is already infinitely trustworthy, but He wants us to be so secure in His promise that He multiplies infinity by infinity, and says, You can trust me this much.
The writer to the Hebrews invites us to think about God’s promises of salvation as an anchor for the soul. Imagine it like the tether that keeps an astronaut attached to a spacecraft when they go on a “spacewalk.” As long as that tether is there, they have a way home. Even though they are in the vastness of space, where there is nothing to hold on to, nothing to push against, nothing that could get them back to safety, with that connection they are safe and will not be lost.
The same is true of God’s promises. Even if every other certainty in your life collapses, you have this connection to safety – this anchor that keeps you connected to Him. No global pandemic, climate crisis or failure of the economy can cut you loose from that. Nor can the collapse of a relationship, the loss of your reputation or a failure at work or school send you spinning off into space. God’s promises in Jesus will not fail.
Everyone will one day go into the deep dark void that is the grave. All of us will enter eternity and face whatever lies on the other side. That God provided an anchor in the most glorious place imaginable – His own presence – means that you can rest in peace comma even now, because your future peace is certain. God has promised it, so reality is bound to conform – because God cannot lie. Where Jesus is, you will be too.
