Truth in our society - Why do we put up with dishonesty?

THERE is a recurring theme running through the broken relationships that have done so much to undermine this society.

It is that power corrupts and that, once corrupted, institutions and their defenders will say more or less anything to safeguard their interests. Truth is immaterial, survival and the protection of privilege becomes everything.

There was little difference in the spirit or tone of the bankers’ defence of their sector given to the Dáil Public Accounts Committee last week and the response of the Catholic hierarchy to the publication of the Murphy report. The attitudes of churchmen of earlier generations as revealed in the report were almost a duplicate of those adopted by the untouchable bankers.

Trust us, they said, despite what you might think, we still know what’s best for you.

Both, to chillingly similar degrees, were self-serving and both articulated an interpretation of events that denied reality, purposely or otherwise.

One of the low points in this fantasy was the introduction by former Archbishop of Dublin Dr Desmond Connell of the bizarre idea of mental reservation: the idea of misleading and twisting the truth without telling a bare-faced lie.

The Ryan and Murphy reports have forced us to accept that the relationship between the Catholic Church and the State has changed forever. We must decide how that relationship might be renewed or if it is to be renewed at all.

The scandals at the banks have had the same effect. Organisations that enjoyed a degree of respect because they were so powerful are almost pariahs. Just as the Catholic Church betrayed our trust, the banks did too.

Politicians encouraged the bankers’ recklessness and made sure that financial regulators were more for appearance than intervention. We trusted them to supervise and control but they did the opposite; they turned a blind eye and fuelled the insanity.

We do not have an option of renewing our relationship with the banks, but we do have the option of imposing stiff regulation and effective penalties.

The most challenging realisation of all though is that, for this level of dishonesty to thrive, to be a part of our everyday lives, we must tolerate it to an extraordinary degree. We tolerate political, religious, business and inter-personal dishonesty to the point that it undermines society and diminishes our self-respect to an extraordinary degree. Why do we do this?

Our sense of outrage has been so dulled by dishonest politicians, dishonest churchmen and everyday, commonplace dishonesty that we may not even notice it. However, over the last few days, we have seen a classic example of a politician indulging in mental reservation.

Defence Minister Willie O’Dea said that he thought Bishop of Limerick, Donal Murray “should consider his position”. In any man’s language that’s code for “the bishop should resign”.

However, when pressed if he was asking for Bishop Murray to resign, Mr O’Dea said “not really”. Mr O’Dea wanted it both ways: he wanted the popular vote, but didn’t want to alienate this Catholic supporters either. He might call it politics, Dr Connell might call it mental reservation, but we all know what it is.

The really sad thing is that we put up with it.