Parents lie to children all the time – but they should think twice about it

Rebecca Brown, University of Oxford

Parents frequently lie to their children. “No, you can’t have any chocolate – it’s all gone,” when there’s a jumbo bar of Dairy Milk in the cupboard. “No, you can’t have my phone to watch YouTube – the battery’s flat,” when it’s at a solid 65%.

Lies like these make parents’ lives easier, particularly so when the children are small. Lying might also be thought to be in kids’ own interests. For instance, young children get told that eating carrots will help them to see in the dark.

Leveraging the promise of superpowers might help children develop habits that will serve them well in the longer term. Similarly, lies might be told to protect children from what might be distressing truths. Communicating about death or serious illness with young people can be challenging, and it may be tempting to distort reality in order to avoid upsetting them.

But before lying becomes a habit, it’s worth dwelling upon the reasons for doing so – and considering whether a different approach would be better.

Types of lie

Roughly, people lie when they say things they believe to be false with the intention of deceiving others.

Philosophers have discussed various definitions of lying in order to develop a definition that captures all and only those cases which we think really are instances of lying. For example, we want our definition of lying to exclude jokes or metaphors or some cases of exaggeration (“it’s raining cats and dogs”, “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!”).

Lying can be well meaning, such as white lies and noble lies. White lies are small lies told to protect social relations – for instance, to avoid upsetting or offending someone (“that jacket really suits you”). Noble lies serve some greater good, such as maintaining political harmony (“We have nothing to fear but fear itself”).

There are also some edge cases, which don’t quite meet the definition of lying given above. Altruistic “lies” are told to get someone to believe the truth – if you know someone will disbelieve you, then you might say something strictly false, but with the intention of getting them to believe the truth.

For example, Ben always confuses cinnamon with nutmeg. He loves cinnamon and hates nutmeg but believes, incorrectly, that he loves nutmeg and hates cinnamon. Sally knows Ben’s preferences and also that he reliably mistakes cinnamon for nutmeg. She offers Ben a cinnamon bun and tells him “you’ll love it – it’s full of nutmeg”. In cases such as these, there is no intention to deceive.

Alternatively, someone might intend to deceive without making a false statement: lies by omission involve misleading someone by leaving out relevant information. It is also possible to deceive by telling the truth – for example, responding “I prefer brie” when asked “did you eat the bit of Stilton I was saving?”. This is known as paltering.

But the lies that parents often tell children aren’t these “sort-of” lies.

Why shouldn’t we lie to children?

Clearly, adults sometimes lie to other adults. Some philosophers, such as Immanuel Kant, think that lying is never justified, even if the consequences of telling the truth could be disastrous. But we don’t have to take such an extreme position to think that the ways and frequency with which people lie to children are troubling.

Sometimes a lie is a quick way to avoid a meltdown.
MIA Studio/Shutterstock

People don’t just lie to children when the implications of telling the truth would be very severe. People often lie to children for trivial reasons – to avoid the effort of explaining the truth, to avoid another meltdown, to speed up some process or gain compliance.

And the lies aren’t always that small. Children might be told the police will come and arrest them if they don’t obey their parents’ demands. Small children are not well placed to judge the plausibility of these claims and can’t be expected to recognise their absurdity.

So what, if anything, is wrong with lying to children like this? I think there are a few reasons why lying to children is not trivial.

Trust: One problem is the risk of being found out, and the subsequent loss of trust. It seems important that children can trust adults, particularly their parents. Lying to children jeopardises that trust and may be associated with other negative outcomes, such as higher levels of psychosocial maladjustment later in life.

Child development: Some of the lies that get told to avoid distress or confrontation might appear kind, but they serve to bypass the need for children to exert self-control or prevent them from developing an understanding of the world. Meltdowns and confrontation are unpleasant but unavoidable with children, and they must learn to manage emotions like frustration and injustice.

Respect: It’s important to remember that children are people too. We don’t casually lie to other adults partly because it’s disrespectful to act as if the accuracy of their beliefs is unimportant. We should have the same approach to children.

Reflecting on our reasons: By committing to tell the truth we force ourselves to reflect upon our behaviour. For instance, what is the real reason your toddler isn’t allowed to watch cartoons right now, or you won’t take them to the playground? Parents have an incredible degree of power over their children, and it should be deployed responsibly. Telling the truth can encourage us to think about why we’re controlling our children in particular ways and whether or not it’s justified.

Parenting can be exhausting, and lying is the easy option. But treating children with respect and supporting them to develop and mature requires holding ourselves to higher standards of truthfulness. So think about why you won’t hand over the bar of chocolate to your three year old, and consider giving that as the reason next time the request comes.

Rebecca Brown, Senior Research Fellow at the Uehiro Oxford Institute, University of Oxford

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.