Hear me out.
We don’t always recognize truth when we see it. In fact, “seeing” isn’t really the right metaphor for our first-line sense of truth; human sight is generally pretty reliable. No, when we come across a new idea or piece of information, it can be quite tricky to determine whether we believe it’s true or false. If we’re in the mood to be thorough, we’ll take the time to look into it—do the research, ask around, think hard. But before we even decide whether such an investigation is worth the effort, we usually have some kind of discerning intuition. It’s that first hunch—that sense—that leads us to deem that claim believable or bologna.
What I mean to say is that your preliminary sense for truth is about about as describable and about as dependable as your sense of smell.
Think about smell for a second. What are the different words we use for scents you can detect? And I don’t mean comparisons to other scents, like, “This smells like vanilla,” or, “It smells like something is burning.” Even words like “sweet” or “smoky” are basically just references to other similar scents. Compare that with the more pure descriptions we use when describing things we sense through sight. I could explain the appearance of a tennis ball by saying it’s a round, green, matte, fuzzy, small thing. Those descriptors each correspond to their own categories (shape, color, luster, texture, and size, respectively). What can I say of it’s smell? “It reeks strongly of rubber.” Maybe strength is a category to its own, but I’m depending on my conversation partner to know what rubber smells like if I’m going to be any more precise.
And because we need to make comparisons to categorize scents, we’re also prone to make frequent mistakes in identifying objects by smell. That tennis ball doesn’t smell all that different from many of the other things you might find in a sporting goods section. Could you pick it out in a lineup of other balls if you were blindfolded? Or maybe tell breeds of dogs apart based on their odor alone? What about finding a book in a library in the dark? These tasks would be a breeze if you could just use your eyes! Our noses don’t have the capacity to make such delicate distinctions.
Ok, but what does this have to do with truth? I shall tell you.
When it comes to evaluating new information, our “gut sense” for truth suffers from comparable inelegance. The difference is that our sense of truth is invariably affected by trained or learned biases. In other words. we assume that true statements exhibit certain properties, and when those properties are absent we raise a suspicious eyebrow.
The metaphor is this: to the mind’s nose (like the mind’s eye, if you will), truth “smells” a certain way. Statements and ideas are accompanied by certain “fragrances” that hint at their truth value. At least, we assume those fragrances tell us about their truth value. To be clear, identifying fragrances of truth says more about our own presuppositions than about truth itself. Truths come in all shapes and sizes and they present themselves in a menagerie of ways. It is the truth-hearers—or, rather, the truth-smellers—that are characterized by presumptuousness. And yet we depend on this (often faulty) sense in our everyday lives! We regularly need to recognize true things and distinguish them from false things in order to make informed, reasonable decisions. So it’s helpful to identify which of these scents we find the most convincing and which of them we waft away without a second thought.
So, what are these fragrances of truth?
To give a plain definition, they are features of information that win our trust before we’ve taken time to be critical. They are what make us say “Yes, that seems right” or “I’m not buying it” when we we form our first impressions about something we’re told. They’re not actually marks of truth—just characteristics that we expect to see when we make our initial judgments. And, like literal fragrances, they’re kind of hard to pin down. Sometimes, when it comes to explaining our intuition for judging truth claims, all we can say is, “I don’t know why I think it is [or isn’t] true; I can just tell.” Some fragrances draw us in like a hypnotic aroma; others repulse us like a noxious odor. The problem is that many lies are delightfully aromatic, and many truths just plain stink. It’s worth dwelling on our preferred scents lest we be swept away by the fumes, however pleasing they might be.
Some of these fragrances are distinct and recognizable. For example, truth can smell old. We often trust that information is true because people have known it for centuries or more. Even if it sounds strange or unreliable for other reasons, if a fact or idea or principle has stood the test of time, that’s enough reason to act on it. One place you’ll encounter this fragrance is in proverbs and adages, with phrases like, “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.” In moments of tension and conflict, where harsh words seem to be the only way to get things done, perhaps the only reason one might act in kindness is because of this time-worn advice. It’s an old idea, and that’s exactly what leads us to believe that it’s a good one.
Of course, we can just as easily lend too much credence to information because it carries a certain fragrance. The smell of age is no exception to this. When I told my parents I wanted a Volkswagen bus, I fell for some advice that smelled as old as the vehicle’s dusty interior. “Get yourself one of these old boys and it’ll last you the rest of your life!” To be fair, the sentiment was honest and self-assured. Cars from the 60’s and 70’s offered some impressive longevity, and, by 2006 when I was picking my first car, it was widely believed that automotive products from that era would keep trucking. Thirty years of mileage wouldn’t lie, right? Well it did. And three years after trusting that old, aromatic advice about classic cars, I decided I had smelled enough of the mechanic’s shop.
So, truth claims might come perfumed with the musk of old age, but not everyone find’s that fragrance convincing. In fact, it seems no less common that people are drawn in by truth claims that are brand new. In more idealistic terms, we might say that good information is “up to date” or “modern” or “hot off the press.” The newest thing is always the best thing, right? Why would you want an older version of anything? But, as with predilections towards old-scented information, uncritical faith in newness can lead to carelessness and error. More than that, it can lead to unquenchable obsession! The newest or hottest thing is never the same from one day to the next. Is it always best to follow your nose into the latest and greatest trends, news, and ideologies?
Allow me to reiterate: these two equal and opposite fragrances say very little about the truths that they may or may not accompany. What they expose is our tendency to prefer one fragrance over another. It serves us well to know our biases—our favorite scents—because it keeps us from making all kinds of avoidable mistakes. And this is just one set of fragrances (they do come in pairs)! What other kinds of information do we prefer, and what would we rather ignore? Where do we expect to see truth come from, and what sources do we exclude altogether for their wretched stench? The human mind is no bloodhound when it comes to sniffing through truths and lies. Be mindful of the fragrances that entice you most, or you’ll soon be seduced by what your nose thinks it knows.
Thumbnail picture by Mel Poole at Unsplash.