All students of child nature agree that a very young child—say before the age of four or five—does not lie consciously. Later, the child may say many things that are not so, but gradually he comes to recognize the difference between what he says and what is really so; he may need help in coming to see the difference, but this aid should not be forced upon him too soon. A little boy of five who was very imaginative became acquainted with some older children in a new neighborhood who had little imagination and therefore were greatly shocked by Herbert's "stories." They proceeded to inform him that he was lying, and to explain to him what a lie was. The boy was very much impressed. After he came home he discovered that there was a great deal of lying going on. He asked his little brother, "Are you older than me?"—to which the little one answered in the affirmative. Herbert came running to his mother to report that the baby had "told a lie!" For several weeks everything that was said was subject to the child's severe scrutiny; every slightest mistake was at once labelled by him as a "lie." Richard said this is my right hand, that is a lie; Helen said I may not play with the hammer, mother said I may, so Helen lied; the maid said it was time to go to bed, but it is only five minutes to seven, so the maid lied. And he would delight especially in asking the baby brother leading questions, to trap him into saying lies. This experience did not result in making Herbert any more scrupulous in his own speech, for his imagination created interesting and dramatic situations, which he described with zeal and enthusiasm, for a long time after he had discovered "lies."
The young child is really incapable of distinguishing between his dreams and reality on the one hand, and between reality and his day-dreams or imaginings on the other. A little boy came home from kindergarten a few days after he had entered, and, when the experience was still full of novelties to him, he described the workshop: each little boy had a pair of overalls with the name across the bib in black letters; there was a little locker for each child, with the name on the outside; each had his set of tools and his place at the bench. Day by day he narrated his doings in "school" and reported the progress he was making with a little "hair-pin box" that he intended for his aunt's birthday. On the birthday the mother came to the school to see how the boy was getting on; and she asked about the hair-pin box which he was now to bring home. It then appeared that there was no shop, no overalls, no lockers, no tools. The whole story was a creation of the child's imagination, and all the details he had invented were real enough to him to be described repeatedly with such vividness that no one suspected for a moment that it was all a fabrication. To call such stories "lies" would be worse than useless. If scolding or preaching could make a child merely stop telling such stories, there would be no gain; if they stopped a child thinking such stories, there would be a decided loss.
Gradually the child may come to recognize the difference between the make-believe and the reality, and he may be helped. When at a certain age you think your child ought to distinguish more clearly between his imagination and cold facts, it would be all right to explain to him that, although there is no harm in his enjoying his make-believe, still he must not tell his fancies as if they were real, but must tell them as "make-believe stories." That will achieve the desired result without making him feel hurt at your lack of understanding in treating him like an ordinary liar whose prime intention is to deceive. But it is not wise to force this development, even at the risk of prolonging the age of dreams.
With some children lying is caused by their esthetic feelings. It is much easier for them to describe a situation as they feel it should have been than to describe it as it actually was. Many children "embellish the facts" without any trace of intent to deceive. Although we recognize that what they say is not strictly the truth, we must further recognize that it is their love of the beautiful or their sense of the fitness of things that leads them to these "exaggerations." It is the same sort of instinct as shows itself in our love of certain kinds of fiction. We know that some of the happy endings in the plays and in the novels are often far-fetched; but we like to have the happy endings, or the "poetic justice" endings, or the "irony of fate" endings, just the same. When the child makes up his endings to fit his sense of justice or beauty, we must not condemn him, as we are often tempted to do, by calling his fabrication a "lie," for that at once puts it in the same class as deliberate deceit for a selfish purpose. There is really no harm in this class of lies, unless, as the child grows older, it becomes apparent that he lets his wishes and preferences interfere with his vision of what is actually going on. In such cases the remedy is not to be found in the denunciation of lying, but in giving the child opportunity to experience realities that cannot be treated untruthfully. To this end various kinds of hand work and scientific study have been useful. It is impossible for the child to cheat the tools of the workshop or his instruments of precision; it is impossible to make a spool of thread do the work of two or three; or one cannot make the paint go farther by applying the brush faster. It is concrete reality that can teach the imaginative child reality; in the things he learns from books there is no check upon the imagined and the desired—one kind of outcome is as likely and as true as another. But in the experience of the workaday world causes and consequences cannot be so easily altered by a trick of words.
Investigation has shown that the sentimental or heroic element is one that appeals to children so strongly that it may often lead to what we adults would call lies, or it would seem to the child to justify lying. The confession to a deed that he has not committed, for the purpose of saving a weaker companion from punishment or injury, seems to be a type of lie that appeals strongly to most children. Again and again have boys—and girls, too—declared stoically that they were guilty of some dereliction of which they were quite innocent, to shield a friend. And most children not only admire such acts, but will seek to defend them on moral grounds, even when they are old enough to know what a lie is. The explanation for this is to be found in the fact that the child sees every situation or problem as a whole; he has not yet learned to separate problems into their component parts. A situation is to him all wrong or all right; he cannot see that a part may be wrong, while another part is right. Now in the case of the self-confessed culprits, the magnanimity and heroism of the act stand out so prominently that they quite overshadow the trifling circumstance that the hero did not do the wicked deed.
An excellent illustration of this trait of child nature came out in an inquiry that was made a number of years ago. A child replied, in answer to the question "When would a lie be justified?" that if the mother's life depended upon it one would have the moral duty of saying that she "was out, although she was really in." That is, it would be one's duty to make the great moral sacrifice of speaking an untruth for the sake of saving the mother. Any child will tell you, as did this one, that it would be wicked to tell a lie to save his own life!
This suggests another type of lie that is quite common. Most children feel their personal loyalties so keenly that they would do many things that they themselves consider wrong for a person they love or admire. A little girl was so much impressed with the moral teachings of her Sunday-school teacher that she was determined to get her a suitable Christmas present. Now, the family had not the means to supply such a present, and Mary knew it, and was greatly distressed by the fact. However, where there is a will there is a way; and Mary found the way by cunningly stealing a moustache cup from a store with the inspiring legend "To dear Father" and beautiful red and blue roses and gilt leaves. Mary had learned that it was wicked to steal and to lie, etc., but her heart was set on getting something for the teacher, not for herself, and she very unselfishly risked her moral salvation for the person she loved and admired.
It is probably better for the child if we do not push the analysis of acts and motives too early, for there is more danger at a certain age from morbid self-consciousness than from acquiring vicious habits. If we recognize that many of the lapses from the paths of truth arise from really worthy motives, we must make sure that these ideals become fixed before we attempt to separate the unworthy act from the commendable purpose.
The cases so far given show how important it is to retain not only the affection but also the confidence of our children; and how important it is to have right teachers and associates. The child will do what he can to please those he really likes or admires; but the kind of thing he will do will depend a great deal upon what those he admires themselves like to see done.
There are some lies that are due to faulty observation. We do not often realize to what extent we supplement our sense perceptions in relating our experiences. Lawyers tell us that it is very difficult to have a witness relate exactly what he saw; he is always adding details for completing the story in accordance with his interpretation of what he saw. This is not lying in any sense, but it is relating as alleged facts what are in reality conclusions from facts. One may be an unreliable witness without being a liar; and so may the child tell us things that we know are not so because, in trying to tell a complete story, he has to supplement what he actually saw with what he feels must have been a part of the incident. Defects of judgment as well as delusions of the senses or lapses of memory may lead to misstatements that are not really lies. Some delusions of the senses, especially of sight and of hearing, undoubtedly have a physical cause.