What is Truth? That’s a pretty heavy question to pose, but it is one that has intrigued me most of my life.
As a child I remember being told repeatedly to tell the truth: “Do not lie. We won’t be cross as long as you tell us the truth” – (as it turned out, that very statement itself was not a truth either).
Like most children, however, I learned more from adult bahaviour than from threats and reprimands. Grown-ups seemed to enjoy telling, tweaking and re-telling stories of personal bravery, victory and achievement that weren’t always entirely plausible. I listened to well-honed tales of war and extraordinary accounts of athletic prowess that didn’t match the demeanour and disposition of the teller. I soon decided that verbal truth was, in fact, whatever a person wanted or needed it to be; and, the more one told a particular story—even as it slowly slid, inch by inch, further and further from the original kernel of absolute truth—the more the story became the teller’s truth to which he or she was totally committed and poised to defend.
Like most youngsters, I experimented with the boundaries of truth to varying degrees of success, including some unforgettable and humiliating moments when my delivery failed to convince, or when obvious facts and circumstances failed to support me. At other times, to my amazement, I seemed to ‘get away with it’ and so the tale would slide quietly into my truth trunk to be retrieved with ease at any time as part and parcel of my official legend.
As I continued to grow and observe the world about me, I soon decided that truth is less about content and more about context, purpose and intention—just another marketing project when you get right down to it.
Tooth fairies and Easter bunnies are temporary truths whose roles, we have collectively agreed, justify the deception … as does telling your hostess you enjoyed her (disgusting, inedible) dessert.
Then there are the truths we adopt in order to make ourselves feel better, or to explain away our insecurities. These are the stories that protect us from doing things we are afraid of, or justify our poor behaviour. These are the truths that become part of who we are, as etched upon us as the obvious, indisputable truths like the (original) colour of our hair and the number of toes on our left foot.
Recently, I experienced the sanctioned interpretation of truth as it plays out in a court of law. We—the plaintiff and the defendant—both vowed to tell “the whole truth and nothing but”, yet our truths were very different. Both our deliveries appeared reasonable and credible and I almost believed the words spilling out from my opponent even though I knew them to be as flawed as I believed mine to be true.
It all comes down to presentation and performance. It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it and what you are fighting for. For those who are on the receiving end, it’s also about what they hear and what they choose to hear. Truth, therefore, is compromised at both ends—at its source as well as where it lands.
There is no absolute truth in the words we speak, write, or hear and we should never be forced to promise to provide it. Truth gets squeezed, stretched, manipulated, softened, sharpened, twisted … whatever it takes to achieve its purpose. Even in its purest form, it has a tenuous hold on reality—it’s always subject to possible challenge, dismissal, ridicule, doubt and reinvention.
It reminds me of the work of a potter: truth begins as malleable workable clay. Soon it is spinning on the wheel and off the tongue. Once the potter is pleased with its form and it appears able to fulfill its purpose, it is placed in a kiln to harden and cure. After that and forever more the creator expects it to be a pot, or an urn, or an irrefutable truth … that is, until someone shatters it to pieces.
So, don’t get comfortable in truth. Don’t fool yourself into thinking your virtuous nature is protected and in tact because you uttered a truth. It’s not the solid foundation we make it out to be. It’s not the dependable ally we can necessarily rely upon. Truth, delivered in words, is elusive, innately flawed and subject to interpretation. At its best, it will do no harm … at it’s worst, it can be sanctimonious and downright misleading.
