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Personal hygiene and the ethics of telling the truth

by Simon Longstaff

Time: 0630 hrs. Season: Winter. Location: Collins Street – just outside the Sofitel.

Having crossed the road – enjoying the crisp, early-morning air, I slipped into the passenger seat of a cab – and asked to be taken to Tullamarine. All was well … and then I breathed in and bam! the rank odour, of rather-too-stale sweat, hit me. So down came the window and up went my nose – trying to ride the stream of fresh air without suffering frost bite of the nostrils. Some time later in the journey, the cab driver mentioned (with some evident pride) that he only changed and washed his uniform once a week. I still can’t remember why he told me that unfortunate bit of news. Perhaps I said something about the appalling odour – perhaps not (my attention to the icy breeze was none too subtle).

Now, I wonder what I should have done – tell the guy or not?

On reflection, I doubt that I said anything at the time. My reluctance to speak was not based on any strong ethical position. I simply wanted to avoid embarrassment for either of us. After all, I am not aware of any polite euphemisms that convey, gently, the idea that a person stinks. Perhaps the British have a way of doing this, “By the way, old chap, you’re a bite ‘ripe’” – hardly something that would go down well in an Aussie cab. Besides, what point would there have been in saying something?

Even if I had been quite specific, I doubt that the driver would have pulled over to douse himself in cologne (probably making the situation worse). All I could really hope to do was stop the cab, pay my fare and find another taxi – with the attendant risk of missing my plane. So, I admit that a combination of cowardice and practical necessity won out – and we drove on in uncomfortable silence.

The situation might have been different if I had known the taxi driver – and almost certainly so if I had some personal regard for him. In that case, I might have encountered a real ethical dilemma.

For on the one hand, I have a personal commitment to the importance of truth telling and on the other I prefer not to cause harm to others. So, encountering a somewhat smelly loved one can present a real problem where you know that if you tell them the truth you will probably hurt them (at this point I should disclose that I set aside my qualms in the case of my 13 year old son who, having played footy, generates a potent personal exclusion zone. He only recently experienced the revelation that anti-perspirant should be applied before the game!).

The dilemma about whether or not to speak an unflattering and even hurtful truth is quite real (and fairly common). Some people reckon that it is easily resolved – they tell the truth whatever the case may be and trust that their good intentions will be obvious to all. Others weigh up the likely consequences and will often remain silent – ‘letting sleeping dogs lie’. I have a bias in favour of telling the truth.

However, I am also keen to find out (if possible) just how much a person really wants to know and try to discern the likely effect of my decision on others. So, there will be some situations where I accept that a person really prefers not to know – even if they ask a direct question … ("Daddy – is Santa Claus real?"). I also accept that there may be situations in which my silence will condemn others to suffer one form of harm or another – part of the reality that informs my ultimate decision.

Therefore, resolving dilemmas involving hurtful truths can be quite a complicated business – often resolved on a case by case basis. However, as a general rule, applying the principle of ‘respect for persons’ can take you a long way – usually towards the truth.

So what might this mean for our relations with the ‘olfactory challenging’ (like my wash-averse taxi driver)? For one thing, I wonder if the cabbie had any idea of how bad he was to smell. I gather that men have a biological capacity (derived from hunter/gatherer days) to become desensitised to bad odours (carrying home the kill, I suppose).

Perhaps, I would have been doing the driver a real favour by letting him know why I was huddling near an open window in the dead of winter. And what of my obligations to the next passenger who just might happen to be returning home to the Mornington Peninsular (most of the route is freeway – with no chance of escape)?

On balance, I think that something should have been said – especially given that body odour affects recipients more than it does the producer. So, I invite readers to propose an Australian euphemism that can be used to signal (as gently as possible) that another is more than a bit on the nose. All suggestions welcome.

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