The battle between truth and untruth is constant. So many people tell untruths for many differing reasons and frequently to protect others from pain. It isn't the prerogative of the good.
Do you occasionally tell a little white lie, maybe to protect a loved one or to cover a forgetting of some task, or through misunderstanding, need or desire? Some people are not honest when the Police are involved, again may be not trying to point a finger, but rather to keep themselves safe. How many of us tell the truth to a dying person, who does not know the outcome? I remember when as a ten year old my Grandmother was dying from a particularly nasty cancer, after years of bad health with it, begged my father to tell her how much longer she had to bare this pain. My father didn't answer her concern directly, but rather said they are trying some new drugs which should help you and soon you will feel better. Now perhaps he was protecting her or perhaps me, as this was in general visiting time. Have you done similar to protect someone? Maybe not an out right untruth, but a gentle fudging of things.
What about the perpetual liar, who through illness or lack of confidence lives in a world of untruths which eventually the person even really believes. I know of someone who is shrouded in illness, but it isn't true though he believes it is. I know a clergy member too, who lives out their many lies through mental health issues, but who speaks with such authority as to make everyone believe. What about the stories in the news such as Epstein?
"More than a decade ago, mysterious financier Jeffrey Epstein was investigated by local and federal authorities in Florida for allegedly sexually abusing dozens of teenage girls. But despite what appeared to be overwhelming evidence of a horrifying pattern of abuse, Epstein managed to escape all but minor charges, striking a sweetheart deal with the government that required him to spend just 13 months in jail while granting him and his alleged co-conspirators immunity from federal prosecution. Years later, in the wake of Epstein's sudden arrest and shocking demise, those teenage girls -- now women -- are still seeking answers to their fundamental questions about their abuser and his allies. In dozens of interviews, ABC News' Mark Remillard, reporting with the ABC News Investigative Unit, shares the stories of those women, who have fought to have their voices heard, as well as the lawyers and investigators who tried to bring Epstein to justice. And we retrace Epstein's rise from modest roots to the very intersection of wealth and power, seeking to uncover the forces that shielded Epstein from justice." Sent to me from a podcast.
It is for sure something which we all know about and may be as we live, we do find it hard not to slip in the little white lie, for whatever reason we hold too.
This little legend is interesting.
"According to a 19th-century legend, the Truth and the Lie meet one day. The Lie says to the Truth: "It's a marvelous day today"! The Truth looks up to the skies and sighs, for the day was really beautiful. They spend a lot of time together, ultimately arriving beside a well. The Lie tells the Truth: "The water is very nice, let's take a bath together!" The Truth, once again suspicious, tests the water and discovers that it indeed is very nice. They undress and start bathing. Suddenly, the Lie comes out of the water, puts on the clothes of the Truth, and runs away. The furious Truth comes out of the well and runs everywhere to find the Lie and to get her clothes back. The World, seeing the Truth naked, turns its gaze away, with contempt and rage.
The poor Truth returns to the well and disappears forever, hiding therein, in shame. Since then, the Lie travels around the world, dressed as the Truth, satisfying the needs of society, because, the World, in any case, harbours no wish at all to meet the naked Truth."
The world-famous painting- "The Truth coming out of the well" Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1896.
Ode on a Grecian Urn - John Keats
Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearièd, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.
O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’
Here we find a poem written by Keats as he gazes upon an ancient Greek Urn and sees different scenes that are "frozen" in time. He is mainly concerned about the lover pursuing his adored one and another scene of a sacrifice where the priest and villagers are gathered.
Keats continues that these scenes, frozen in time, just represent a single moment. We don't know what happened beforehand or indeed afterwards. So with people it is in a moment that we might have interaction, a moment for truth or lie. Interesting! This is certainly challenging to us to live in the actual moment, as it is, warts and all. Do we speak with truth or lies? Do we understand, like Keats, that in that frozen moment in time, is what we perceive to see actual reality?
"Beauty is truth,Truth beauty."
A garden shows many moments which can be frozen time, yet the change within them is rapid. What do we learn from such frozen moments?