If someone asked whether we believe that sincerity is a virtue or not, surely most of us would answer in the affirmative without much hesitation. Of course! Sincerity, the absence of duplicity, the ability to say what we think without reservations is precisely what identifies noble people. Sincerity, a virtue? Of course, always.
And, nevertheless, perhaps this premise should be somehow tempered: sometimes, sincerity, which is almost always praiseworthy, because it is almost always a necessary condition for fruitful dialogue, can paradoxically become the greatest obstacle to actual communication.
Let us consider the sincerity of the fanatic. Often, people who are extremely intransigent and unable to listen to opinions that contradict their own, boast about their sincerity:
—God knows that I will have other flaws, but I never lie. I have never deceived anyone. In me, what you see is what you get. I am transparent as crystal clear water. I believe in everything I say with all my heart.
And they are right, in them there is no hypocrisy. But this transparency is not, as they proclaim with pride, a virtue: because the only thing that it proves is that they have managed to convince themselves of their truth, foreclosing the possibility that they may be wrong and that those who think differently may in fact have even a bit of sense in them.
Their sincerity, which such people exhibit as an irrefutable proof of their goodness, only demonstrates their arrogance.
The deeper issue is, of course, that we should never mistake sincerity for truth, as if “being sincere” were synonymous of “being right”, when it is evident that they are two completely different things. However sincerely may I believe in an error, my lack of duplicity and my transparency will not make my belief become true. The degree of sincerity with which I speak does not affect either positively or negatively the nature (false or true) of what I say: I can affirm in all sincerity, for instance, that the earth is flat, as one day most people did; this will not stop the planet from being round. Conversely, I can be hypocritical in praising the talents of an adversary in whom, in reality, I find no merit: my lack of sincerity will not make disappear the talents that this individual in fact possesses.
Undoubtedly, throughout history numerous atrocities have been committed under the banner of sincerity. In the 16th century, the immense majority of inquisitors believed without a doubt that sending heretics to the stake was the right thing to do. In the 18th century, many slave traders believed wholeheartedly that the Africans they chained in the vaults of their ships were members of an inferior race. In our times, the men who crashed the planes against the Twin Towers believed unreservedly in their cause. In all these cases, the sincerity of these individuals was not a virtue, but the proof of their senseless arrogance.
It is unlikely that any reader of this blog will ever deal with inquisitors willing to send their enemies to the stake, with ruthless slave traders or with fanatical jihadists. However, all of us, from time to time, come across someone who has crossed that particular Rubicon beyond which people no longer know how to listen to opinions that differ from their own; people who are no longer capable of recognizing their mistakes, who never see shadows or flaws in their own views. When someone like that, eager to convince us of the merit of his arguments, assures us that he is utterly sincere, we will do well to reply:
—I believe you, but your sincerity does not prove that you are right. And if you do not learn to dialogue, to listen to others and to weigh opinions opposed to yours, then your sincerity will only serve to prove your arrogance.
Let us be careful, above all, not to present our sincerity as the final proof that we are right. The passion with which we offer our arguments has nothing to do with the truth or falsity of what we defend.
And, nevertheless, perhaps this premise should be somehow tempered: sometimes, sincerity, which is almost always praiseworthy, because it is almost always a necessary condition for fruitful dialogue, can paradoxically become the greatest obstacle to actual communication.
Let us consider the sincerity of the fanatic. Often, people who are extremely intransigent and unable to listen to opinions that contradict their own, boast about their sincerity:
—God knows that I will have other flaws, but I never lie. I have never deceived anyone. In me, what you see is what you get. I am transparent as crystal clear water. I believe in everything I say with all my heart.
And they are right, in them there is no hypocrisy. But this transparency is not, as they proclaim with pride, a virtue: because the only thing that it proves is that they have managed to convince themselves of their truth, foreclosing the possibility that they may be wrong and that those who think differently may in fact have even a bit of sense in them.
Their sincerity, which such people exhibit as an irrefutable proof of their goodness, only demonstrates their arrogance.
The deeper issue is, of course, that we should never mistake sincerity for truth, as if “being sincere” were synonymous of “being right”, when it is evident that they are two completely different things. However sincerely may I believe in an error, my lack of duplicity and my transparency will not make my belief become true. The degree of sincerity with which I speak does not affect either positively or negatively the nature (false or true) of what I say: I can affirm in all sincerity, for instance, that the earth is flat, as one day most people did; this will not stop the planet from being round. Conversely, I can be hypocritical in praising the talents of an adversary in whom, in reality, I find no merit: my lack of sincerity will not make disappear the talents that this individual in fact possesses.
Undoubtedly, throughout history numerous atrocities have been committed under the banner of sincerity. In the 16th century, the immense majority of inquisitors believed without a doubt that sending heretics to the stake was the right thing to do. In the 18th century, many slave traders believed wholeheartedly that the Africans they chained in the vaults of their ships were members of an inferior race. In our times, the men who crashed the planes against the Twin Towers believed unreservedly in their cause. In all these cases, the sincerity of these individuals was not a virtue, but the proof of their senseless arrogance.
It is unlikely that any reader of this blog will ever deal with inquisitors willing to send their enemies to the stake, with ruthless slave traders or with fanatical jihadists. However, all of us, from time to time, come across someone who has crossed that particular Rubicon beyond which people no longer know how to listen to opinions that differ from their own; people who are no longer capable of recognizing their mistakes, who never see shadows or flaws in their own views. When someone like that, eager to convince us of the merit of his arguments, assures us that he is utterly sincere, we will do well to reply:
—I believe you, but your sincerity does not prove that you are right. And if you do not learn to dialogue, to listen to others and to weigh opinions opposed to yours, then your sincerity will only serve to prove your arrogance.
Let us be careful, above all, not to present our sincerity as the final proof that we are right. The passion with which we offer our arguments has nothing to do with the truth or falsity of what we defend.
