On Truthfulness: A Practice for Our Times

Lies surround us.

Not merely falsehoods, but distortions so relentless they begin to feel like air, ambient, ordinary, inescapable. Politicians lie. Corporations lie. The media spins and shapes. Billionaires fund disinformation while branding themselves as saviours. This isn’t just a crisis of information; it’s a cultural condition. We are living in a time often described as post-truth, not simply because lies are told, but because belief in truth itself has eroded.

When facts are distorted for ideological gain, when complexity is simplified for headlines, and when personal benefit is masqueraded as moral clarity, something deeper begins to suffer. Trust, that delicate thread that holds society together, frays. Confusion increases. Fatigue ensues. Cynicism turns into a survival tactic. The ground beneath us no longer feels stable.

The Predictive Mind and the Cost of Falsehood

From a neuroscience perspective, this saturation of falsehood is particularly detrimental. The brain is a predictive organ, constantly modelling the world, anticipating outcomes, and creating meaning. It does not wait passively for data; it fills in the gaps. It expects.

However, when the world is rife with contradictions, when narratives clash, and when trusted sources become suspect, the predictive model falters. People become more reactive, more tribal, and more vulnerable to simplistic explanations — often peddled by the very voices distorting the truth.

Lies aren't just errors; they are ruptures. They fracture coherence, both internally and collectively. They erode our ability to relate meaningfully to one another and even to ourselves. And when lies become normalised, when they’re tolerated, minimised, or reframed as strategy, they don’t merely deceive; they degrade the conditions of shared reality.

Lies Begin Within

Among the many ways we inflict harm upon ourselves, upon others, upon the world, lying may be the most insidious not only because of what it conceals, but also because of what it permits. A lie is a fracture. From truth. From a relationship. From reality.

We often consider lying to be a verbal act, a statement made to mislead. However, lying is also a posture, a way of presenting a version of reality that benefits us at the expense of others. It begins long before words are uttered: in our justifications, in our rationalisations, and in the stories we rehearse to protect our image or avoid discomfort.

We lie to ourselves— to maintain coherence, to preserve identity, to avoid pain. We convince ourselves that we’re fine, that we’re right, that our needs matter more. And these inner lies, left unchecked, become the breeding ground for much greater harm.

Ignorance as the Refusal to Know

In Buddhist psychology, ignorance (avijja) is not merely a state of unawareness. It is a refusal to know, a form of wilful blindness. It embodies the ability to know yet choose not to. This represents self-deception at its core: the subtle lie we tell ourselves to maintain comfort or advantage.

We diminish our awareness not because we are incapable of seeing, but because truly seeing would necessitate change. Thus, we maintain a slight distance from the truth. Not far, just far enough.

This illustrates how harm is rationalised, not through cruelty, but through avoidance. We shield ourselves from the truth and, in doing so, often become oblivious to the suffering we inflict.

Theft as a Form of Lying

Lying extends beyond mere speech. It encompasses taking what is not given. Theft, whether of time, labour, attention, love, or land, represents a form of lying. It relies on the concealment of harm and creates the illusion of mutuality where none exists. It proclaims, “This is fair,” when it is not. To steal is to misrepresent, and misrepresentation is a form of deception.

This is especially true when power is involved. When one party takes more because they can, the lie is not only what is said — it exists in the imbalance that is ignored, the silence that is maintained, and the truth that is not spoken.

Consent as Truthfulness in Relationship

Consent is often discussed in the context of sexuality, yet it serves as the ethical foundation of all human interaction. It entails recognising the other as a subject, with their timing, preferences, and right to choose. When we override this — subtly or blatantly — we are not merely being unkind; we are being untruthful. We are pretending that something is mutual when it is not.

Consent means listening—not assuming, not taking, not pressing. It is truthfulness made relational.

The White Lie and the Fracture of Trust

We often excuse white lies as harmless, even generous. However, even small lies fracture trust. When we hear someone lie, even casually, something within us begins to question their credibility. Moreover, when we lie to spare someone’s feelings, we may be protecting ourselves from discomfort rather than safeguarding them.

Kindness without truth is often a form of control disguised as benevolence. Genuine kindness encompasses respect, and respect requires the courage to speak the truth with compassion.

The Courage to Tell the Truth

To stop lying, especially to ourselves, is a radical practice. It’s not about harshness; it’s about alignment. Truthfulness is the choice to live in a world where we can be known, seen, and understood.

In the Buddhist Eightfold Path, Right Speech (samma-vaca) encompasses more than mere factual accuracy. It emphasises communication that is timely, helpful, and true. Truthfulness is not only a personal virtue; it is a social necessity. It forms the foundation of trust, healing, and awakening.

And it is hard.

We are wired for belonging. Speaking the truth can feel like a threat to that, especially when it contradicts the narratives we have relied on to feel safe, accepted, or in control.

But what’s the alternative?

Denial? Numbness? The slow erosion of integrity?

There are moments when I find myself embellishing to appear wiser, more certain, or more put-together than I truly am. The moment is fleeting, but the cost is real. Something contracts. A subtle split occurs. And the body knows it.

Truth as Practice, Not Perfection

To be truthful is not to be perfect. It is to be accountable to reality, as best we can perceive it. It involves remaining curious about our distortions and being willing to revise our stories as awareness deepens.

At times, that means saying, I was wrong.
At other times, it means standing up when remaining silent would be the easier option.
Sometimes it means remaining silent when speaking would merely invoke a righteousness we have not yet earned.

In a culture founded on forgetting—forgetting history, forgetting harm, forgetting our collective responsibility—truthfulness emerges as an offering.

A gesture of conscience. 
A stand for coherence. 
A return to relationships.

We don’t need more certainty.
We need more sincerity.
We don’t need louder voices.
We need clearer hearts.

And perhaps above all, we must have the courage to tell the truth, particularly when it unsettles the ground we’re standing on.