Lies and the Crises of Representation

I have spent a good deal of my adult life studying and teaching "literature."  I considered it a nobel enough pursuit -- partly because it was conspicuously unremunerative -- and one of the justifications for studying obviously made up stories was this:  the story told a deeper truth.  I won't diverge into a defense of poetry, but consider, for example, the Bible.  There are those who claim to believe in the "literal" truth of the Bible, and for those I don't need to waste much time, mostly because it is buttressed by ignorance, whether willful or not.  Beyond that, one can approach the Bible as a "fiction," which in no way disparages it, but simply suggests that it need not necessarily be literally true in order to point at deeper truths.  Those truths can be "truths of God," or in a more secular sense, "truths of mankind," or both, since the one need not necessarily exclude the other.  I point this out for a couple of reasons, but mostly to illustrate just how slippery the concept of "truth" can be in the larger scheme of things -- that we can "tell the truth," and at the same time "tell it slant."  So, hold this idea in mind when we talk about lies. 

One can create a taxonomy of lies, and the first or most obvious sort is the lie designed to conceal the truth.  There is behind this a literalist version of the "truth," where language refers to things and actions out there in the world in rather conventional ways.  Philosophically, this literalist version of the "truth" is enormously difficult to pin down, but we can recognize it when we see it and its important that we do.  A prosecuting attorney, for example, might ask, "did you shoot your wife?"   If the accused confesses and answers "yes," the prosecutor doesn't need to go on and ask, "was it your gun?  was the gun loaded with bullets?  was the gun pointed at your wife?  were you the one holding it?  were you the one who pulled the trigger? did you have motive for killing her? "  The list of potential questions might go on, but they only become necessary in a system of jurisprudence if the accused lies and answers simply "no."  The prosecutor can show the accused is lying through ancillary evidence -- e.g. records showing that the gun belonged to the accused, that he kept it loaded in the hall closet, that there was gun powder residue on his hand, et cetera.  All of this accords with our conventional understanding of the world and how it works.

Behind the conventional idea of a lie is an understanding of intent -- i.e. the accused told the lie intentionally in order to escape prosecution or some other deleterious result.  Consequently, while normally insisting on the "truth," we can easily forgive and over-look the so-called "white lies" because the intent is not (or not wholly) self-serving.   The lie conceals a truth that might be socially inappropriate or hurtful.  There are times when the infamous question, "does this skirt make my butt look fat?" can only be answered, "yes,I'd change into something else."  Although the answer is completely a matter of taste and opinion, one can imagine scenarios where such a "truth" might be the best response, but generally speaking one can also imagine scenarios where the "truthful response" would cross normally accepted social norms and as such could be seen as an intentional attempt to be hurtful.

There are several things to notice here.  First, there is the nature of the question itself, which is embedded within a complex interpersonal dynamic, which in turn is embedded within equally complex social norms surrounding taste and beauty.  Consider Sir Mix a Lot's take on the matter of butts, one freighted with racial implications.  Or perhaps Megan Trainer's take on the matter, one equally freighted with gender implications.  Second, there is this matter of taste and beauty itself, or what might normally be called the subjective nature of the response, which quickly devolves into a prismatic my truth, your truth, his truth, her truth.  There is, of course, a difference between a question like "did you shoot your wife?" and "does this skirt make my butt look too large?"  The one can be answered "factually" and the truth adjudicated against observable, verifiable evidence.  The other, not so much, which is not to say there is no evidence whatsoever.  There is the butt after all, and one might discuss what it means for a butt to be fat within certain racial and gender contexts, and such discussions might have relevance to the answer, though such discussions don't really answer the question at all.  So third, there is not only this matter of context and occasion.  In asking, she is not seeking a discussion on aesthetic responses to butts, rather a disconfirmation of doubts about her appearance.  Best to answer, "Hard to say, you always look great to me."      

Another word on observable or verifiable evidence. Consider, for example, Bill Clinton's infamous statement, "I did not have sex with that woman."   Forensic evidence proved the "lie."  We could engage in semantic exercises.  If "sex" refers only to vaginal penetration, then technically speaking he did not have sex with that woman.  This so beggars our conventional understanding of what it means to "have sex," however, that this explanation for the "truth" of his statement was unconvincing and hypocritical.  Given that he "lied," one could imagine various motivations for the "lie," all of which might be "true."  Perhaps, he did so in order to spare his wife the embarrassment and hurt that would come with the admission that he did indeed have sex with that woman.  One could also imagine he did so too in order to spare himself the embarrassment and the political fallout from a more truthful statement.   Altogether, it's easy enough to imagine the motive for the act itself and the motives for lying.  Whether he lied primarily to spare his wife, or primarily to spare himself, even Bill Clinton might not know, and nothing prevents us from imagining both might exist simultaneously.   Having said this, context and occasion continue to matter, however, and Bill Clinton lied within a context that carried penalties, within a grand jury investigation.  Clearly, in this context, he should not have lied, but that he did lie is perfectly understandable.   The weight one puts on this might depend upon how one views the act itself, or how one viewed Bill Clinton in the first place, or in our increasingly partisan environment, or how one affiliates with the political environment.   

In a recent Slate article, Yascha Mounk in turn cites a recent article by Hahl, Kim and Sivan.  In it, they attempt an experimental solution, as Mounk put it, to "one of the central puzzles of the 2016 election: why did so many people support Donald Trump even though he told so many blatant lies?"   The academics go to answer this question by differentiating between two types of lies, both of which are implicit in the discussion above.  One they call a "special-access lie," the other a "common-knowledge lie."  The first they define as "a deliberately false statement based on facts about which the speaker is thought to have special access," and it is the sort of lie that one might expect the accused to tell within a court of law when they plead "not guilty" to a crime they have in fact committed.  They give Bill Clinton's lie as an example of the same.  He (and Monica Lewinsky) had special access to facts about their relationship that no one else had, and he effectively pled "not guilty" until his accusers met their burden of proof.   They go on to suggest that the "reason why politicians tell such lies is that they are gambling that their falsehood will never be uncovered ... Such a politician is indirectly reinforcing the norm that speakers should make true statements and avoid false ones; the implicit claim is that the truth is important and her statement is true."

The other, the "common-knowledge lie," the academics define as follows: "a false assertion about facts to which the speaker has no special access."  They give as an example Donald Trump's claim that his inaugural crowd was larger than Obama's, though the "truth" of the statement could be disproved through readily available photographs of the two events.  They go on to say, "the ideal-typical case of this type of lie is one in which the speaker not only knows the statement is false, but she knows her listeners also know that she knows the statement is false; it is thus common knowledge that the statement is false."  Perhaps because it would simply not occur to most to engage in "common-knowledge lies," that Trump tells so many such "whoppers" is a distinctive and puzzling and, yes, at times, infuriating feature of his candidacy and his presidency.  The academics feel "the distinction is useful because it clarifies what is at stake. In particular, whereas the speaker of a special-access lie is implicitly upholding the norm of truth-telling, the common-knowledge liar is implicitly attacking this norm."

I would encourage people to read the academic study to form a judgement about the study itself, and the conclusions they draw.  For the moment Mounk provides a good summary of what is at stake.  He writes,

the reason why populists and political newcomers are so willing to challenge basic democratic norms is in part tactical: whenever populists break such norms, they attract the univocal condemnation of the political establishment.  And this of course proves that, as advertised, the populists really do represent a clean break from the status quo.  There is thus something performative about populists' tendency to break democratic norms: while their most provocative statements are often considered gaffes by political observers, their very willingness to commit such gaffes is a big part of the appeal.

There are a few things to unpack here, not least the notion that "truth-telling" is a "democratic norm."  We all know, of course, that politicians lie.  They do so for any number of reasons, but mostly to avoid embarrassment and to conceal what motivates them.  Bill Clinton's assertions about Monica Lewinsky and now Trump's assertions about Stormy Daniels are more alike than not.  These are the most blatant of special-access lies.  Both competing politicians and the press make it their business to "expose" special-access lies.  We have, in other words, an adversarial political system -- one in which adversaries insist on the truth each from the other, though not necessarily from themselves.   Just as conservatives were adversarial to Obama, liberals are adversarial to Trump, and even a casual reading of history would suggest we're experiencing an "adversarial politics as usual," amplified perhaps by social media and negative partisanship.  Like sports teams and their fans trash talking one another, the contending parties have never been the best  source of accurate information.  Consequently, within liberal democracies, the so called mainstream media has served a traditional and mediating role in the adversarial system, pun intended.  While any particular outlet has always had "bias," and might spend more time "digging dirt" on one party over another, it has been generally assumed that the dirt they dig meets a standard of verifiable truth.  While the New York Times might be more keen to expose conservatives and the Wall Street Journal might be equally keen to expose liberals, both are constrained by standards of verifiable evidence.*

Implicit in this is an assumption that governance is ultimately "fact-based."  Here's what I mean by that.  No conservative politician will say "I want to cut donor class taxes because they contribute to my campaign and I want to provide a quid pro quo."  That misrepresentation might be the "truth" behind their motives, and I think there is a growing consensus between both liberals and conservatives that the "system is rigged" and corrupt for precisely this reason, but that misrepresentation is the most special of special-access lies.  We can make inferences from patterns of contribution and votes, particularly those legislative votes that favor the donor class as they run counter to public opinion, even so there is a chicken and egg question.  Do the donors support the politician's values and principles, or do the values and principles follow the money?  Only the politician can know his motives with absolute certainty, and at the end of the day, having said that, I'm not sure it matters.  Most conservative politicians will, however, say "I want to cut donor class taxes so they can invest in new business and job creation."  Although there is little reason to assume the motivation for saying this is genuine, the proof here is nevertheless in the pudding.  Do tax cuts in fact spur investment in new business and job creation?  Moreover, do tax cuts in fact create new tax paying businesses and workers that make up the difference and protect popular social programs like education?  The evidence is mostly in, and the answer to both questions is "no, not really."  If the people feel that new business and job creation are desirable ends -- and why else would a politician justify policy with new business and job creation if they were not desirable ends -- then we need to explore other instrumental means to that end.  In this rather complicated pragmatic sense, truth-telling is a "democratic norm."

There is, however, another sense that he is caught up within fact-based norms.  Even if we assume the worst motives behind the Mueller investigation -- that is to say, even if we assume it is motivated purely by partisan malice -- it shouldn't matter.  Although certainly people have their opinions, Trump continues as president under a presumption of innocence. Why?  It's not largess or partisan bias.  There is a logical, evidentiary reason for the presumption of innocence.  One simply cannot prove the negative or the "absence" of a crime.  One may have read a billion Hillary email messages and find nothing incriminating, but there is always the possibility that the next email may reveal something incriminating.  The possibility may be remote, and one may weary of the effort and expense of finding it, but it nevertheless remains a possibility.  Consequently, each new trove of recovered emails sparked hope in her adversaries mind during the last presidential election cycle.  Until that incriminating email shows up, however, we must presume innocence.  Despite the chants of "lock her up," or the "Hillary for Prison" bumper stickers, she remains free to hike the woods.    Likewise, the Mueller investigation.  I think the smoke surrounding Trump is darker and denser, and I really believe that the history will reveal his administration to be even more corrupt than Hardings, but the investigators must prove the positive or the "presence" of a crime by providing evidence of that crime.  For the sake of our criminal justice system, we would hope the evidence is substantive and verifiable.

So, again, what are we to make of a president with little regard for fact-based norms?  I think Mounk is correct when he suggests there is something performative about Trump's lying.  As John Barron might confirm, Trump is his own supreme fiction, which brings me round to the academics' notion of the "common-knowledge lie" or "fiction."  In fiction, the speaker knows his statements are not "fact-based," the listener knows his statements are not "fact-based," but the statements can be "true" in a deeper, non-literal sense.  Consider, for example, Trump's easily debunked assertion that his inaugural crowd was larger than Obama's.  It is parallel to the also easily debunked statement that he would have won the popular vote had it not been for all the "illegal" votes.  Within fact-based norms neither statement makes particular sense, but when one is willing to suspend disbelief -- that is to say, when one is willing to view the statement within the context of Trump's fictive vision of a "real" America populated with "real" Americans -- it begins to make sense.  The black Americans who swelled Obama's inaugural crowd simply "don't count."  The black and Hispanic and others who swelled Clinton's popular vote simply "don't count."  In this deeper, non-literal sense, his statements are "true" within his vision of the "real" America, and this deeper truth no doubt resonated with his voters.  I am not suggesting that the Trump supporters consciously made this connection.  Other interpretations are, of course, possible, and there will be those benighted few who believe, who really believe, the statements are literally true.  I am simply suggesting that, within Trump's world, the statements don't need to regard "fact-based norms" to be "true" in a deeper, more important and consequently more authentic sense.

Mounk and the academics see Trump as a "lying demagogue," and his ascendency comes within a "crises of legitimacy."  As Mounk put it,

when the political system is widely seen as doing its job, somebody like Trump, who violates its basic norms, is seen as illegitimate.  A politician who blatantly lies doesn't stand a chance.  But this changes when more and more people come to believe the system is rigged and that most politicians don't have their best interest in mind.  Amid such a "crises of legitimacy," voters don't particularly care whether a politician plays by the rules of the game. Instead they long for somebody who bluntly states how rotten the system really is.

He goes on to point out that a "crises of legitimacy" can take two forms.  He paraphrases the academics by suggesting that

in a"representation crisis," large segments of the population feel that the political establishment doesn't govern on their behalf.  Meanwhile, in a "power devaluation crisis," a once dominant group resents the fact that politicians increasingly seem to pay attention to new, formerly less powerful groups.  The United States is currently suffering from both crises.  Many minority groups understandably fear that the current government doesn't have their best interests at heart.  At the same time, many member of the shrinking ethnic majority have good reason to believe that their power will keep on dwindling.  In other words, the legitimacy of the American political system is increasingly in doubt on both sides of the partisan divide.

A "representation crises" can be addressed within fact-based democratic norms, the "power devaluation crises" not so much.  On the former, one doesn't need to dig deeply to find constituents who feel the political establishment fails to represent them -- that is to say, fails to serve their interests. At the heart of a crises of representation is another crises of representation.  At the risk of sounding naïve, I do believe that there is a reality, out there, that transcends me.  We can "represent" any given reality in a number of ways, but that doesn't suggest that there is a parity between facts and alternative facts or that a locution like "alternative facts" is even meaningful.**   Nevertheless, some fictions are compelling because we want them to be true.  And indeed, yes! wouldn't it be great if low taxes did bring a libertarian paradise into existence, one replete with well paying jobs and full-coverage medical, one stocked with well-funded schools and other public amenities, but unfortunately reality has a way of asserting itself and low taxes don't bring a libertarian paradise into existence.  Reality has a way of asserting itself. They haven't in the past, and despite all our wishful thinking, they won't in the future.  Although one might imagine a time when a politician might have made this claim in good faith, any politician who makes the claim today, ignoring or in ignorance of all the evidence to the contrary, is "misrepresenting" reality.  The lack-luster response to the recent tax cut is evidence perhaps that people are waking up to that reality, which means too that politicians who "misrepresent" reality also "misrepresent" their interests when they claim that tax cuts to the rich will improve the lives of the other 99%. 

I simply do not see a democratic response to the "power devaluation crises" or, perhaps more accurately to catch the full spectrum of social and economic classes, the "status devaluation crises."  In all truth, I could see very little in Obama's presidency that was identifiably "black," though one doesn't need to dig deeply to understand that his mere presence in the White House symbolized the perils of an on-going and irreversible demographic shift in this country.  We are rapidly becoming minority majority. If we think of democracy in its purest sense, as majority rule, democracy itself becomes the enemy, and for those who feel the loss of status, it isn't surprising that they turn to an anti-democratic demagogue who exchanged the dog whistle for a microphone.  He is president, in part, because of another "crises of representation," one hard-wired into our constitution.  As has been pointed out, the state of Wyoming with a half million people has two Senators, and the state of California with 35 million people has two Senators.  Spread across the country, here again, if we think of democracy in its purest sense, the people of Wyoming are significantly over-represented relative to the people of California.  The House ostensibly balances this out, but gerrymandering tilts the balance again.  Regardless, realistically speaking, the Senate carries greater weight and is, consequently, harder to move.  I am not sure how we overcome the demons of our baser instincts, the racial animus of tribal politics, but they are the demons we must exorcise.      
         




*There is a longer discussion here, particularly about broadcast media, and even more particularly about media outlets like MSNBC and Fox News.  Although no one would question their partisan positions, and I do think that both Maddow and Hannity are guilty, as Samantha Bee put it, of throwing "together a bunch of scary buzzwords and out-of-context clips to support an outrageous conclusion."  That said, however, I might be revealing my own confirmation bias in suggesting that there are differences between them as well, not least that Maddow adheres closely to verifiable evidence.   As the recent disclosures suggest, however, Sean Hannity himself is not adverse to the special-access lie, concealing his relationship with Trump's attorney as he excoriates those investigating him on air.

** To illustrate the point, I would hold up a fist-sized rock and ask a simple question, "what is this?"  The quick and obvious answer was, of course, "a rock," but a slight context shift revealed it was a "murder weapon," since that particular rock had been used to bludgeon someone to death.  Another slight context shift revealed it was a "sacred stone," since embedded within the visible patterns of its mineral composition was the yin-yang symbol for the reconciliation of opposites.  Another slight context shift revealed it was primarily SiO2, commonly known as "quartz."  I could go on, but the point was typically made.  There seems to be no limit to the ways in which "reality" can be represented, but that doesn't mean anything goes or that it doesn't matter how we represent that reality.  It was plausibly a murder weapon because the object was hard and jagged, and while a piece of marble could have sufficed as a murder weapon, the particular "rock" I held up was not CaCO3, but SiO2, a very different mineral.   A correct representation matters because a fragment of SiO2 was found embedded in the murder victim's skull, not CaCO3.