"While walking in her neighborhood, a friend saw a man who had tied fishing line around a turtle's throat and was letting his kids drag it up and down the path. Feeling that a direct approach would lead to a confrontation, my friend said: ''I am a biologist with So-and-So University. Turtles are toxic; they secrete a poison that may make your kids horribly sick.'' The guy had his kids stop tormenting the turtle right away. Was this lie justified? David Weinreich, Arlington, VA.
There are times when it is acceptable, even obligatory, to lie. If it were 1850 and your friend were working on the underground railroad and the slave catchers pounded on her door and asked, ''Any slaves in there?'' she would have an ethical obligation to lie. Her falsehood would be notable for its altruism, the seriousness of the harm it forestalled and for its lack of effective alternatives.
Her actual testudinal trickery met only some of these criteria; the turtle's suffering, while genuine, was less significant. And by speaking tactfully, she might have persuaded the kids to behave more gently without driving their dad to truculence. This is easily noted in retrospect, but I realize that some solutions are not always obvious at the time. So if your friend truly saw no alternative, she acted reasonably, if imperfectly, by saving an animal from torment while avoiding getting herself punched in the nose.
Still, even small deceits exact a cost. The more we lie, the more likely we are to suspect that we are being lied to, with the consequential decline in the trust that makes social interactions possible. What's more, some day that family will stumble upon the truth about turtle toxicity; that's when the kids will learn not to believe passers-by, and their dad will learn to resent his mendacious neighbors."