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It’s a wonderful lie

BEFORE I was old enough to delight in the jolly man in red, my mother told me
the awful truth: Santa Claus doesn’t exist. That guy at the mall in the white
beard? A fake. That list? There is none: naughty or nice, the gift is going to
be the same.

While other kids excitedly left out milk and cookies and spent the night
listening for reindeer hooves tapping on their rooftops, I had to console myself
with fact. How could a big fat man fit down a chimney? How could a ragtag team
of reindeer fly around the world in just one night?

“I didn’t want you believing in lies,” my mother tells me now. She has a lot
to answer for. It turns out that believing in lies, and in particular the ones
we tell ourselves, has a purpose. In fact, self-deception may be the social glue
that keeps us all pulling together. Even if you don’t buy the picture of humans
as the caring, sharing ape—well, self-deception also has a seamier side.
It could be the best way to get what you want. So, Santa, I’ll have a case of
single malt whisky, please.

How does self-deception work its magic? For a start, duping yourself makes
you a better liar. If you can trick yourself into believing something that isn’t
true, you must be convincing, says Robert Trivers of Rutgers University in New
Brunswick, New Jersey. He thinks that the same evolutionary forces that make
straightforward deception a useful ability may also select for self-deception.
Trivers even goes so far as to suggest that the conscious mind is largely just a
“social front, maintained to deceive others”. Truth, he argues, is stored in the
unconscious, while the conscious is full of fabrication. That way, when you spin
your yarn, all the telltale signs of deceit will be absent: no sweaty palms, no
fidgeting, no shifty eyes.

Self-deception is also useful in self-promotion, according to Trivers. If you
can convince yourself that you’re better than your opponents, you have a better
chance of carrying off the bluff. Conversely, being conscious of your
deficiencies—that you’re clumsy, not the brightest bulb, or that your fly
is down—can be a handicap in competitive situations, Trivers says. Better
to believe you’re the best, even if it’s not true. You can test this out at the
office Christmas party.

Trivers sees self-deception at its most nefarious, but others have suggested
that it is actually a socially desirable skill. We are a social species, and we
form cooperative alliances. But that’s easier said than done. Usually, making a
group work means suppressing at least some of the interests of its members, and
that may be easier if individuals can hoodwink themselves.

Michele Surbey at James Cook University in Townsville, Queensland, wanted to
see how important self-deception is in taking the leap of faith needed to
initiate cooperation. “We propose that the ability to self-deceive is involved
in overcoming this psychological hurdle,” she says. She and her colleague Amy
Rankin from Mount Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick, also suspected
that not being able to deceive yourself might be associated with some extreme
personality types—and with a reluctance to cooperate.

The two researchers asked 113 undergrads to take a test called the Self
Deception Questionnaire. It taps into common but in some ways threatening
notions. On a seven-point scale ranging from “never” to “always”, the volunteers
had to answer questions such as “have you ever doubted your sexual adequacy?”
and “have you ever enjoyed your bowel movements?” People who consistently deny
that they have thoughts like these are deemed to be high self-deceivers.

The students also took two personality tests. One, the Mach IV scale,
measures how aware you are of your own motives and those of others, and how
Machiavellian you are in using this knowledge to manipulate others. The second
test, the Narcissistic Personality Inventory, picks out the more self-obsessed
and egotistical among us. It turned out that people with strong Machiavellian
tendencies got low scores on the self-deception test. “They’re more consciously
aware of selfish motivations than others,” says Surbey. “And they’re projecting
their selfish motivations on others.” And the narcissists also had trouble
pulling the wool over their own eyes.

The researchers then presented pairs of students with Prisoner’s Dilemma
scenarios. In each, a person has to decide whether to cooperate with or cheat on
the other player. The problem is that how well you do depends on the choice the
other person makes, and you have no way of knowing what that will be. If you
choose to cheat and your opponent cooperates, you score highest. But if he tries
to pull a fast one too, then you both do badly. Overall, both players do best
when both cooperate, but the temptation is always to give an indication that you
will cooperate and then to cheat in the end anyway. The game gets to the heart
of the conflict between what’s good for me versus what’s good for my social
group. Interestingly, both the Machiavellians and the narcissists were much more
likely to cheat than cooperate—just as Surbey and Rankin had
predicted.

Surbey is now looking into how self-deception might keep romantic
relationships together. She wants to know, for instance, how a couple stays
together after one or both have cheated. Previous research by Sandra Murray and
John Holmes at the University of Waterloo in Canada suggests that self-deception
is indeed an important component of a lasting intimate relationship. They
interviewed hundreds of married and dating couples, asking about the partner’s
traits. Was he considerate? Was she critical? They also interviewed the partner
directly—and a close friend—to find out what they were truly like.
Not everybody lied to themselves about how wonderful their partner was, but
those who did were much more likely to have an enduring relationship, the
researchers found. “You learn to live with who your partner is by telling
[yourself] little white lies,” says Holmes. “It’s an old-fashioned Victorian
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