Concealment may be, or may not be, of the nature of deception.  Concealment is not right when disclosure is a duty.  Concealment of that which may properly be concealed is not in itself wrong.  Efforts at concealment must, in order to be right, be kept within the limits of strict truthfulness of statement.  Concealment for the purpose of deception is in the realm of the lie.  Concealment for the mere purpose of concealment may be in the realm of positive duty—­in the sight of God and for the sake of our fellows.

It is to be borne in mind that the definitions here given do not pivot on the specific illustrations proffered for their explanation.  If, in any instance, the illustration seems inapt or imperfect, it may be thrown aside, and reference made to the definition itself.  The definition represents the principle involved; the illustration is only a suggestion of the principle.

V.

THE PLEA OF “NECESSITY.”

The story is told of an old Quaker, who, after listening for a time to the unstinted praises, by a dry-goods salesman, of the various articles he was trying to dispose of, said quietly:  “Friend, it is a great pity that lying is a sin, since it seems so necessary in thy business.”  It has been generally supposed that this remark of the old Quaker was a satirical one, rather than a serious expression of regret over the clashing of the demands of God’s nature with the practical necessities of men.  Yet, as a matter of fact, there are moral philosophers, and writers on Christian ethics, who seem to take seriously the position assumed by this Quaker, and who argue deliberately that there are such material advantages to be secured by lying, in certain emergencies, that it would be a great pity to recognize any unvarying rule, with reference to lying, that would shut off all possibility of desired gain from this practice under conditions of greatest urgency.

It is claimed that lying proffers such unmistakable advantages in time of war, and of sickness, and in dealings with would-be criminals and the insane, and other classes exempt from ordinary social consideration, that lying becomes a necessity when the gain from it is of sufficient magnitude.  Looked at in this light, lying is not sinful per se, but simply becomes sinful by its misuse or untimeliness; for if it be sinful per se, no temporary or material advantage from its exercise could ever make it other than sinful.

If, indeed, the rightfulness of lying is contingent on the results to be hoped for or to be feared from it, the prime question with reference to it, in a moral estimate of its propriety, is the limit of profit, or of gain, which will justify it as a necessity.  But with all that has been written on this subject in the passing centuries, the advocates of the “lie of necessity” have had to contend with the moral sense of the world as to the sinfulness of lying, and with the fact that lying is not merely a violation of a social duty, but is contrary to the demands of the very nature of God, and of the nature of man as formed in the image of God.  And it has been the practice of such advocates to ignore or to deny the testimony of this moral sense of the race, and to persist in looking at lying mainly in the light of its social aspects.