The Obvious Lie: Self-Deception Through Language
A personal reflection on the use of obvious-ness as a mask for uncertainty and doubt
We all know people who condemned some kind of lifestyle, only to be later discovered occultly living in such a way.
It’s a common thing: the loudest accuser has something to hide.
They often claim their assertions to be based on obvious observations. And when challenged on the validity of those proclaimed truths, emotional appeals and personal attacks ensue.
My pet peeve
I studied philosophy in college, so I had to read the work of dozens of philosophers and scholars.
One thing that stood out from the very beginning and that always made me especially angry were terms like “obviously.”
I was often immersed in a text, letting myself get carried away by the force of its arguments, only to come across “it is obvious that.”
It ruined the experience for me, and I could no longer trust the author was arguing in good faith. He was trying to sell me something.
No matter how wonderful and convincing the earlier argumentation was when asked to accept something as obvious, it all fell down.
Learning from the philosophers
This was a helpful experience, though.
After several experiences like that, I became aware that I was doing the same thing.
Both in my thoughts and in my speech, I would say things like, “Well, it is clear that.”
It wasn’t easy, but I made an exercise out of trying to figure out why I would do something like that. And the answer was that I wasn’t really sure about the validity of those claims.
Whenever I talked about something I wanted to believe in, or that was supposed to be part of my identity but that I had doubts about, I would use obvious-ness.
Seeing myself doing the same thing made me suspect that those great thinkers weren’t trying to convince me; they were trying to convince themselves.
Most times, people who lie and play an act are not trying to fool other people; they are making an effort to maintain a façade for their own eyes.
I won’t share my masks here, but I do have them, as I’m sure you do.
Some comforting mental construct we’ve created to make life easier to deal with. If the construct is important enough, we’ll create a whole belief system.
Getting to know our masks
By being alert at our use of this kind of language, we start to understand the façades we have created to deal with the world, with others, and with ourselves.
I’m not going to share my own masks here, but, I do have them, as I’m sure you do.
But I believe it’s useful to know their identity and why we put them on.
We might even choose to refine and take back control over some useful masks that have taken a life of their own.
I will close this article with the words of someone far wiser about self-deception than me:
It has gradually become clear to me what every great philosophy up till now has consisted of — namely, the confession of its originator and a species of involuntary and unconscious auto-biography; and moreover, that the moral (or immoral) purpose in every philosophy has constituted the true vital germ out of which the entire plant has always grown. Indeed, to understand how the abstrusest metaphysical assertions of a philosopher have been arrived at, it is always well (and wise) to first ask oneself: “What morality do they (or does he) aim at?” Accordingly, I do not believe that an “impulse to knowledge” is the father of philosophy but that another impulse, here as elsewhere, has only made use of knowledge (and mistaken knowledge!) as an instrument.
Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future (1886), Friedrich Nietzsche