You Can't Handle the Truth - or Can You?

“Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” the NPR radio show on Saturday mornings, features “Bluff the Listener,” as contestants are asked to choose which of three stories is true. Last week’s episode told of three tourist attractions in Indianapolis: the Indianapolis Women Prisoner’s Talent Show, the Karen Pence Towel Charm Museum, and The Idle – A Point of View, featuring chairs and a sunshade in a triangle designed for watching freeway traffic converging at the intersection of I-70 and I-65. Which one is true? Figure that one out!

It’s all over social media, this competition between truth and untruth. Many friends have complied a list of ten concerts they’ve attended, or, for the bibliophile, ten books they’ve read. They want me to guess which band or book doesn’t belong on their list. Which one is untrue?

We’re all tempted to pad the truth from time to time to paint ourselves in a better light, or to outright lie if we think it’s in our best interest. As a child, I was seldom successful, convinced my mother had a sixth sense about when I was lying; however, it’s more likely my face gave me away. Retired FBI agent Mark Bouton explains: “There are a number of facial expressions and associated reactions that could indicate someone is lying to you. Some are caused by nervousness, some by chemical reactions, and others by physical reactions.” They’re what long-time poker players call “the tell,” the tics and quirks caused by the stress we feel when we’re attempting to deceive others. No poker-playing for me.

So what’s the big deal about a little white lie? While it might not be evident immediately, untruth leads to consequences. Sometimes the consequences are direct. As a young teen, I planned to meet a forbidden boyfriend at the T-NT game, our local football rivalry night. When my lie about my plan was discovered, I spent an interminable Friday evening in agony, sure that I could hear the cheers of the crowd from the prison of my bedroom.

Author Sheri Dew understands the potential for the loss of integrity: “Men and women who sell their birthright for a mess of pottage [reference to Jacob and Esau in the book of Genesis] will tell you that their demise began with something small, with some seemingly insignificant breach of integrity that escalated. The little things do matter.”

When we lie often, we lose credibility, as described so clearly in the world of children’s literature. Pinocchio’s nose grows, and the perpetual teller of tales (the boy who cried wolf) is no longer trustworthy, to the detriment of his sheep.

Even when a retraction is issued or we admit we’ve been less than truthful, the falsehood remains. Psychologist Tania Lombrozo tells how false (or incorrect) information can continue to influence, even if it is corrected. “The trouble is that initial beliefs are sometimes hard to dislodge. Dozens of studies in experimental psychology have identified a phenomenon known as the continued influence effect. Even after misinformation is retracted, many people continue to treat it as true. In other words, it has a continued influence on their thinking.”

The repeated requests for a prayer chain for the seizure-prone Dakota recently caught my attention. If a baby is in distress, I want to pray for him, right? Yet the details kept changing, so I attempted to confirm the situation. Snopes suggests it’s about a baby named Waylon in December 2016, or maybe a baby in North Dakota in 2014. Truthorfiction.com couldn’t verify the child’s existence. I did, however, discover a Go Fund Me page for Dakota, a dog having seizures. I have two young friends doing battle with epilepsy whose diagnoses are confirmed, and I’m committing my prayer support to them, rather than a stranger’s dog or a child invented or altered by the old-fashioned game of gossip on social-media steroids.

How can we discern truth? When in doubt, lessons from the game of “gossip” guide our way: Listen carefully, don’t share murky information, and check with the source. Because truth does matter, in governance, in the media (social or anti-social), in interpersonal relationships, and in prayer. And at the intersection of I-65 and I-70 in Indianapolis.