Are you an unusually good liar? Can you deceive people without much effort? As with anything else, we all know that effectively misleading people requires practice and trial and error, but if you believe a study by Theodor Schaarchmidt, summarized in Scientific American, not only does lying require peak cognitive function, it also involves cognitive peaks and valleys similar to those in our physical abilities.

“Lying is among the most sophisticated accomplishments of the human mind, and the complexities involved often require peak capacity of the mind.

“Young adults between 18 and 29 do it best,” Schaarchmidt found, “and after about the age of 45, we begin to lose this ability.”

Our physical peak is relative, of course, but even elite athletes who work out for hours a day, every day, will admit that their physical peak occurred somewhere around 25th birthday. Those who extend their professional careers, learn how to compensate for the fact that their ability isn’t what it once was, but most of us recognize a relative physical decline as we age. Those of us who aren’t as reliant on physical ability as a professional athlete, might not recognize our decline, or how we’ve compensated for it. If one of our eyes loses some functionality, for example, we learn how to compensate for it so well that we might not notice it for years? Does the same apply to our mind when it comes to the ability to lie? 

We’ve all witnessed seven-year-olds try to lie, and their tells are often so obvious when they do that they’re hilarious. They need to learn how to do it, and that knowledge only comes with experience.

When elderly people display the fact that they’ve lost some of the complex functions required to lie, we might make the mistake of believing they’ve voluntarily disregarded the filters we all maintain for polite conversations. “They’ve been on this earth 85 years, and they don’t care what anyone thinks anymore,” we say. “They’re done with trying to spare our feelings with the little white lies we all tell ourselves.” We think it’s funny and intriguing to see this live, but studies cited by Schaarchmidt suggest that there might be a U-shaped curve to truth telling, or an (‘n’) shaped curve to lying, and it’s all based on the complex functions of the brain that operate in some of the same peaks and valleys of our physical abilities.

It seems so odd to suggest that lying requires advanced cognitive function. Lying seems as easy as telling the truth, as it all comes down to a simple, snap choice. If we ask them, “Did you steal my copy of Journey’s Escape?” that’s a simple yes or no, regardless the truth. How about, “Do you think your nephew Mike has a bright future ahead of him?” That question requires careful consideration, as it’s entirely possible that Mike can turn it all around, regardless how it appears right now. Not only that, but most of us know that our answer will likely get back to Mike and harm future family relations. Our aunt obviously didn’t consider any of that when she said, “No, he’s a lazy, ambition-less, privileged piece of junk.” Wow, where did that come from?

How does advanced cognitive function affect our ability to lie? The Scientific American piece cites an illustrative story involving a man Theodor Schaarchmidt nicknamed Mr. Pinocchio. Mr. Pinocchio was a 51-year-old who “was a high-ranking official in the European Economic Community (since replaced by the European Union), and his negotiating partners could tell immediately when he was bending the truth [lying]. His condition, a symptom of a rare form of epilepsy, was not only dangerous it was bad for his career.” The article states that doctors found that a walnut-sized tumor that caused seizures whenever he told a lie. “Once the tumor was removed, the fits stopped, and he was able to resume his duties [his lying]. The doctors, who described the case in 1993, dubbed the condition the “Pinocchio syndrome”.”

Some, like Mr. Pinocchio, lie to serve an agenda, some tell white lies to be nice, and some BS to make others think they’re more successful, more adventurous, and happier. If we catch them in a lie, we’re likely to hear something along the lines of, “Everybody does it,” or “if you say you don’t do it, you’re lying.” Those lines are effective, because there is some truth to them. We all tell harmless white lies occasionally. We fabricate, and some of our lies require more creativity that truth telling does. Yet, we all know the difference between stretching the truth and lying, and we fear that greater acceptance of small, white lies can affect our relationships with these people, our society, or our culture. The latter might seem exaggerated hyperbole, but we fear that the society and culture cannot operate properly without some demand for some level of consistent honesty from our fellow man. We can’t help but think that such lines also give liars license to continue to lie without guilt.

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“A lie is not a lie if you believe it,” the writers from Seinfeld wrote for the patron saint of all untruthers, George Costanza. The implication in this line is that the art of deception requires some effort on the part of the liar to convince himself of a falsehood if he wants to convince another party effectively. That line, right there, summarizes the theme of this article better than any of Theodor Schaarchmidt’s scientific studies, because convincing yourself of a lie you’re going to tell others obviously requires advanced cognitive abilities. How are you going to introduce your lie, how are you going to sell it, and what face are you going to wear to sell it? Liars also know that the art of deception lies somewhere between effectively selling it and avoiding the dreaded over-sell. They know we can see someone over-sell a lie, and they know we can see it. So, they might study their own delivery, in the manner an effective Major League Pitcher does to keep the batter off balance by making the delivery of their fastball appear exactly like the delivery of their curveball. The difference between the two, if you can spot it, for both the pitcher and the liar, is often called: “A tell.” A tell, often used in poker parlance, is the subconscious physical actions we make when we are trying to deceive. The final stage for the liar to execute, and that which most without peak cognitive function might fail, is the backdrop. When we create a new base, based on a lie, it forces us to create Shakespeare’s tangled web, and that, needless to say, requires even greater cognitive abilities. 

Schaarchmidt’s piece suggests that if the liar is between 18 and 29, they might not have to put forth as much effort, as the lie will flow more fluently, if there is no damage to the area of the brain required for the convincing lie.

Who’s lying, and why are they lying? How about we take the Costanza lie one step further and suggest that the liar believes what he’s saying with every fiber of their being. Is it still a lie? The separation of the two is, of course, that the liar doesn’t have to convince himself of the lie. He believes it. Even if it was technically a lie and we can prove its lack of merit beyond a reasonable doubt, it would be difficult to prosecute or persecute them in just about every court in the land, including the court of public opinion.

Perhaps, the liar is guilty of the “blind spot” lie. Blind spot lies are often momentary blotches on the liar’s otherwise stellar record of honesty. Blind spot lies are born in the bath water of the loathing they have for their adversaries. They loathe them so much that their competitive spirit gets the best of them. They cannot see the hole until they fall into it, and some of them cannot see even see it then, but their followers wonder if he hates his opponent so much that he can no longer see the truth with regard to their opponent. If he can see it for what it is, the blind spot lie often permits its purveyor to lie without compunction if it serves his goal to do so.  

Regardless, he can no longer view simple disagreements with his opponents on how to resolve pressing matters in an objective manner. He can no longer see an honest disagreement as a simple case of differing values. We don’t know if he has a personal grudge or a professional one, but it’s obvious to everyone but him that his is an emotional pursuit as opposed to a rational one. He is convinced that nefarious influences affect his opponent’s agenda. He views his opponents’ motives as impure. He views his opponents as uninformed, incompetent, selfish, and divisive. He does not view any of his opponents’ mistakes as genuine, of if he does, he capitalizes on them and characterizes them as intentional. He does not think that his opponents are prone to human failure, or if they are, he seeks to characterize them as some sort of institutional failing on their part. In his quest to seek motive, he incidentally accuses them of matters for which he has the most guilt. If he accuses his opponent of thievery, in other words, chances are he knows the thief’s mentality™ better than his opponents. Whatever form of deception lines his accusation, pay careful attention to the particulars of his charge for it might say more about him than it does his opponent. We call this psychological projection.

This blind spot is most disheartening to the liar’s believers, for they believed in him, and they might feel disillusioned and disappointed by his actions … if they find out the truth one day. If the blindspot liar is good at what he does, and he’s unusually charismatic, the chances are his followers will never want to see how he seduces, dominates, and exploits them for his gain. We enjoy it when “our guy” calls their guys names, and we might even repeat those names and those lies, until we arrive at the Svengali-effect, which is defined as “a person who manipulates or exerts excessive control over another.” As we all know, only “their guys” do this. Our guy never would. 

When “our guy” does it, We might enjoy the name-calling, and we might even believe it, but on some other level, we thought “our guy” was above such street games. We thought he was an intellectual, and that no other intellectual would dare seek battle with him. When we witnessed others challenge him, it shocked us to see him use his power to shut his opponents down to shut them up. He then called upon others to help him shut down dissenting voices, and it shocked those of us who thought he was a fellow dissenting voice. We didn’t think he would stoop to the other guys’ tactics of corruption, lies, and the ‘whatever it takes’ mentality to bring his foes down, but we found some of his actions troublesome. Some blind spot liars knowingly engage in wanton deception, but others have such an emotional blind spot of hatred that they can’t see it for what it is. Most of the times, it is difficult to see the difference, as we can’t know what’s in a man’s heart.

We all know that “the other guys” lie, and we all know an idiot who falls for it, but aren’t the lies our beloved guys tell more destructive? Some of us don’t see it, and others won’t see it no matter how often others show us. They’re our brothers, sisters, peers, friends, co-workers, and politicians. They are “our guys”, and we know them well enough to know that they wouldn’t lie to us, so we repeat what they say, and we learn to live the lie, because we know the other guys are lying to us. 

Some famous writers suggest that it’s preposterous to suggest that even the most fair-minded among us are objective, as we don’t have the capacity for it. Our opinions, regarding the other side, are so emotional that they colorize how we view their lies. Our emotions, on the matter, blind us to facts, thus the term blind spot. The term blind spot and blind hatred are different, of course, but they intertwine when the former provokes the latter to view the other side as the most dastardly demons who are incapable of truth, and we write pieces like this with a certain person in mind, but we run the risk of having a reader read this piece with one of “our guys” in mind.   

We choose sides. In the never ending quest to determine who is being deceptive or virtuous, we believe our guys. Regardless how many white lies, and egregious deceptions our guys engage in we have reasons to believe them, whether they’re the Hatfields, the McCoys, the New England Patriots, or the Democrats, we choose to believe our guys over the other guys. Our side is right, and the other side contains villainous liars and corrupt cheats who are willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. The other guys don’t care about us. We can guess that disinterested parties chose sides during the infamous Hatfields vs. McCoys feud, and they proceeded to follow the newspaper stories from a specific angle. They probably developed loyalties that led to their own blind spots on the matter. Even though most of them never met a Hatfield or a McCoy, or ever saw one speak, we can guess that their interest in the story spawned certain loyalties on the matter that let them to believe “their guys” were incapable of having blind spots, lying, or any form of corruption bent on destroying the other side. We still have matters that divide us in seemingly trivial ways, as observers around the nation were intrigued, and divided, by an episode in history. We might never know the truth of the matter and in some ways, we don’t care. These episodes rarely affect us directly, so no one really suffers, until it dawns on us that everyone does when it becomes apparent that by picking sides we forego a quest for truth.