The Noble Lie
Some lies we call noble, but can we be trusted to label our own lies?
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From December 1940 to September 1944, the inhabitants of the French village of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon (population 5,000) and the villages on the surrounding plateau (population 24,000) provided refuge for an estimated 5,000 people. This number included about 3,000–3,500 Jews who were fleeing from the Vichy authorities and the Germans.
Led by Pastor André Trocmé of the Reformed Church of France, his wife Magda, and his assistant, Pastor Edouard Theis, the residents of these villages offered shelter in private homes, in hotels, on farms, and in schools. They forged identification and ration cards for the refugees, and in some cases guided them across the border to neutral Switzerland. These actions of rescue were unusual during the period of the Holocaust insofar as they involved the majority of the population of an entire region.
Le Chambon-sur-Lignon - The Holocaust Encyclopedia
You may have heard of what we call the noble lie. It can be a bit subjective to define, but, simply, it is a lie for a good purpose. You may have noticed that we have a difficult time agreeing on what ‘good’ means. The classic example of a noble lie is exemplified by the inhabitants of the French village of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon in World War II.
The history of Le Chambon and its environs influenced the conduct of its residents during the Vichy regime and under German occupation. As Huguenot (Calvinist) Protestants, they had been persecuted in France by the Catholic authorities from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries and later provided shelter to fellow Protestants escaping discrimination and persecution. Many in Le Chambon regarded the Jews as a “chosen people” and, when they escorted those who were endangered 300 kilometers to the Swiss border, the guides were aware that they were following the same route that their persecuted Huguenot brethren had traveled centuries earlier.
Le Chambon-sur-Lignon - The Holocaust Encyclopedia
A village of 5000 sheltered close to 5000 people, most of them Jews, who were hiding from the Nazis - at great risk to themselves. They were motivated by their Christian beliefs and led by Pastor Andre Trocme of the Reformed Church of France and his wife, Magda, and his assistant, Pastor Edouard Theis.
On June 29, 1943, the German police raided a local secondary school and arrested 18 students. The Germans identified five of them as Jews, and sent them to Auschwitz, where they died. The German police also arrested their teacher, Daniel Trocmé, Pastor Trocmé's cousin, and deported him to the Lublin/Majdanek concentration camp, where the SS killed him. Roger Le Forestier, Le Chambon's physician, who was especially active in helping Jews obtain false documents, was arrested and subsequently shot on August 20, 1944, in Montluc prison on orders of the Gestapo.
Le Chambon-sur-Lignon - The Holocaust Encyclopedia
A lie for a good purpose - to protect others, to thwart injustice - often at great risk - a noble lie. A lot of ink has been spilled concerning whether a noble lie is permitted under Christian theology. This village decided it was what they had to do in order to live out their Christian beliefs - to love their neighbor. I don’t intend to wade into those theological waters, I just want to mention that the injunction against lying - specifically not bearing false witness - remains for Christians. And that there is a rich discussion of, because of the fallen nature of our world, that sometimes the truth must be hidden in service of a greater good - and when that can become a dangerous, self-serving, self-justifying exercise. Where it becomes simply a lie that we justify by calling it noble.
Why the history lesson? You may have noticed that we have experienced, and are experiencing, a period in our political and cultural life where truthfulness is increasingly rare, while claims to the moral high ground are not. Both sides of this coin are important, but I want to start with our perceived morality - the noble part of the noble lie.
Imagine for a moment that you are one of the citizens of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon during second world war. While you may have qualms about lying (and many of the inhabitants did - even though they felt they had little choice), you would have a level of moral certainty regarding how those fleeing to your village during that time should be treated. If caught, those fleeing, mostly Jews, would be sent to a camp to die a horrible death. Those who searched for them were ever present. The moral choice is to protect the innocent against a great injustice which was undeniable. The choice is clear and the stakes are clear - those found to be protecting Jews from the Nazis would also be sent to a camp if not killed immediately. And so, with the rest of the village, you hide those who need to be hidden and lie if necessary to do so.
That is what we sometimes call a noble lie. But those in the village did not consider their lies noble - they considered them a grim necessity in a broken world. A transgression of their normal moral duty, of their Christian beliefs, for the sake of a greater good. A necessity which, by God’s grace, they would soon be free from.
We don’t live in that village during that time. We live here and now. And we face no such situation.
Many around us speak of political or cultural issues as if their stakes rival those of the villagers of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. And, because the moral stakes are so high, everything in service of our issue is not only allowed, it is demanded. It is easy to see that many people are loose with the truth, to put it charitably, in service of their political or cultural goal. They repeat claims about actual people they have not even attempted to verify. They represent issues in ways that don’t match reality. And they do so with an air of moral certainty. They wouldn’t call these noble lies because they haven’t bothered to find out whether or not they are lies - but they are willing to not find out - because theirs is the right and moral side. If they doubt the veracity of their claims, they don’t recant them, because the stakes are too high - we imagine, just like those French villagers in World War II, we may have to stretch the truth, or completely break it, in service of our greater good.
We are often aware of the false claims of the ‘other side’ of the issues we care about. At least we believe these claims to be false. We may call these false claims lies. How aware are we of the truthfulness or falseness of our own claims - political, cultural, or, yes, theological? Can we be trusted to make this judgment on our own?
There are a couple of things about noble lies. First, we are not reliable judges of the nobility of our own lies. The villagers discussed among themselves, with their pastors, what their duty was and if it involved lying - and they reluctantly lied to keep others alive. We … don’t do this. And we have a great deal of motivation in first not finding out if our lies are lies and second in calling them noble, or at least justifiable.
The second thing about noble lies - like all lies, in the long run, they don’t work. The villagers knew they had a limited time frame to act in such a way to make lying necessary. The war would end. Whatever situation they found themselves in after that, wouldn’t be this situation - and they would have helped who they helped. And if, God willing, the Allies would win the war, the protection of Jews would no longer be necessary. Usually, for us, reality eventually asserts itself - and the position we held so passionately and, perhaps, ruthlessly, will be found to be false. And all of that lying would have served no purpose other than to help us, in our own estimation, be on the ‘right side’, which would no longer be seen as the ‘right side’.
All Christians know that lying is a sin. But I don’t think we always pay enough attention to how that teaching comes to us.
You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor.
Exodus 20:16
Do not spread false reports. Do not help a guilty person by being a malicious witness.
“Do not follow the crowd in doing wrong. When you give testimony in a lawsuit, do not pervert justice by siding with the crowd, and do not show favoritism to a poor person in a lawsuit.
“If you come across your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering off, be sure to return it. If you see the donkey of someone who hates you fallen down under its load, do not leave it there; be sure you help them with it.
“Do not deny justice to your poor people in their lawsuits. Have nothing to do with a false charge and do not put an innocent or honest person to death, for I will not acquit the guilty.
Exodus 23:1-7
Don’t describe someone else’s thoughts or actions falsely. Don’t spread false reports. Don’t follow the crowd, don’t pervert justice by siding with the crowd. Have nothing to do with a false charge. And, interestingly, don’t show favoritism to a poor person in a lawsuit. In other words, especially when talking about other people - tell the truth, even if it helps someone who hates you or hurts a poor person in a lawsuit.
My, don’t we live in a time of false reports - and we are obligated not to spread them - and the implication for us is that we should disregard them. Notice it doesn’t say don’t spread reports that you know are false. It says don’t spread false reports - even if you think them true. The burden is on you to find out. The burden is also to ask yourself why you are spreading them.
You won’t find a lot of space here for a noble lie involving another person. In fact, they seem to be specifically ruled out. We may just be telling ourselves that they, and we, are noble.
Links
Children Who Were Sheltered in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon - The Holocaust Encyclopedia
