What point does truth have? It’s like a badge of courage I wear these days but ultimately alienating and fruitless. It serves no end, except allowing me to feel “I dare” and know the deal of myself and life.
I’ve come to the conclusion, after speculating on this before, that indeed most people are prone to greater delusion than myself. And when you stand amongst them, daring to speak the truth of yourself and your life, they pity you. They think your life is particularly bad because you speak of things as they are, fair and square. Even though the only difference is that you don’t spin yourself the yarn of “I never wanted those things anyway”, “These bad personality traits I got are quite great actually” or “Me and my partner are very happy” (when you feel like walking on a tightrope every day for fear of provoking an argument). I recently witnessed a fellow truth-speaker among a crowd of delusionists. I recognised the wisdom of this person’s words, but most people saw fit to pity and teach the person the error of having an unideal life. No doubt the majority of them having unideal lives themselves, but pretending they don’t not to lose in social status. It takes courage to make yourself vulnerable, first to your own judgement and then to the loss in social status that comes with saying your life ain’t no joyride. My badge of courage says “I recognise the yarns I tell myself. I quench them with the truth” but what is the purpose of it all?
The other side of this is that when you look at things in their full depressing darks, it also diminishes hope and crushes the spirit. It becomes harder to get out and change things. I feel that sometimes one needs brazen hope and outright fantasy to make a change. It’s easier to summon the will power for chanage when you manage to fantasize the present into something more palatable.
As a teenager, I remember walking across a wet and slushy piece of land between the houses and fantasizing this was the Dead Marshes in Lord of the Rings, while I was a brave adventurer. Wet and slushy became much more bearable.
So what point would truth have in enduring an unpleasant walk? Is it going to make it easier that I can truthfully list all its unpleasantnesses? No, the opposite. Is it likely to encourage a faster step? Yes, if you got the will power. No, if you don’t. And it certainly won’t uplift the mood.
In life context, I see no benefit in truthfulness.
And, to turn evolutionary psychologist for a second, if it has no use, it is going to be a rare quality among the population. That is also why I’ve found it an alienating experience to be truthful. Pulling the wool over one’s eyes is much more useful in helping to cope with life and manage to get on as well. It doesn’t diminish will power and hope the same way. So maybe I should use the medicine nature intended us to use and become, once again, the master of pulling wool.