In a rather mundane discussion of Shakespeare's Henry IV Part I, our professor made most of us question his reliability because of his adamant defense of Falstaff. In the text, according to the entire class, Falstaff lies. To this, our professor blew up and asked how we define a lie. One student merely said, "an untruth." In his defense, our professor asked the question, "If I say, 'I went to the moon yesterday,' is that a lie?"

My logic is that he was knowingly giving false information, thereby making it a lie. His argument (well, he was so sure of it, he wouldn't say it was an argument) was that it was something so absurd it was obvious he didn't actually do it and therefore it was not a lie.

There was no way we could have convinced him that his side was questionable, so we moved on. Someone then asked a question he wasn't sure of, to which he replied, "Well, I never took that philosophy course," implying that he wasn't well versed in that material. Yet for some reason, he was absolutely sure about philosophy of a lie and what constitutes one.

Maybe leprechauns have super abilities to detect lies or something.