After a workshop, a fellow complained to me that I’d made him feel uncomfortable. “I’m not perfect,” he said, “but I’m basically honest.” His implication was that it’s unfair to expect people to be honest all the time.

His comment reminded me of a cartoon where one fellow confided to another, “I admire Webster’s honesty, but his insistence on being scrupulously honest is really annoying.”

I’m not an honesty absolutist. It was okay to lie to the Nazis to save innocent lives, and I approve of police lying during undercover operations to catch drug dealers or corrupt politicians. It’s also okay to tell your grandmother you really like the sweater she knitted or let young children believe in the Tooth Fairy.

But be careful. It’s easy to stretch these special situations into an endless chain of rationalizations that justify lying whenever it’s convenient.

Every lie must be justified by competing moral principles, not self-interest. Some lying during criminal investigations pass muster because they’re subjected to judicial review and advance a long-term public good. And there are times when white lies can be justified when kindness trumps truthfulness.

Otherwise, being scrupulously honest is not only possible, it’s desirable and morally mandatory.

But being “basically” honest is not enough. It’s like saying, “I really want to be honest, but not if it costs too much or prevents me from getting what I want.”

Honesty is crucial, not only to uphold an abstract moral principle but to preserve one of our most important personal assets – credibility. Despite self-serving excuses, almost all lies breach trust and undermine credibility.

Once someone lies to us, even on a small thing, we always think, “What else have you lied to me about?” How many times do you get to lie before you’re considered a liar? How many times does someone get to lie to you before distrust sets in?

Being honest only when it suits our purpose isn’t honesty at all.