I am a big fan of Star Wars. For those who don’t follow it, there is a show called Andor that explores the early days of the growing rebellion against the evil Galactic Empire. One of its central characters, Mon Mothma, is a member of the Galactic Senate who is secretly helping lead the burgeoning resistance.

At one point, she stands before the Galactic Senate at a time when truth itself is being manipulated. Events are being distorted, and official explanations are becoming increasingly disconnected from what actually happened. In her speech, she says:

“The distance between what is said and what is known to be true has become an abyss. Of all the things at risk, the loss of an objective reality is perhaps the most dangerous. The death of truth is the ultimate victory of evil.”

She continues with another line that has stayed with me:

“When truth leaves us, when we let it slip away, when it is ripped from our hands, we become vulnerable to the appetite of whatever monster screams the loudest.”

Of course, Andor is fiction. But the problem it describes is very real—and very old.

We live surrounded by competing claims about reality. We hear different versions of the same events. Politics, media, social media, science, religion, culture, friends, family, and people we respect can all offer different explanations of what is happening and what it means.

Sometimes the disagreement is over relatively minor things. Sometimes it involves questions that matter deeply.

How do we know what is true?

“Did God really say?”

Interestingly, one of the first conversations recorded in Scripture is about this very problem.

The serpent asks Eve:

“Did God really say…?”

— Genesis 3:1

It begins with a question.

Then comes contradiction.

God had warned Adam and Eve that eating from the tree would lead to death.

The serpent says:

“You will not certainly die.”

Then comes an alternative explanation of God’s motives. God isn’t protecting you. God is withholding something from you. Eat this, and you will become like God.

Suddenly there are two competing descriptions of reality.

God says: Trust Me.

The serpent says: You can’t trust Him.

And then Eve looks at the fruit.

It looks good.

It looks desirable.

It looks beneficial.

Nothing about reality has actually changed. God hasn’t changed. The fruit hasn’t changed. The consequences haven’t changed.

What has changed is Eve’s perception of reality.

The lie has become more believable than the truth of God.

Perhaps that is why deception is such a recurring theme throughout Scripture. Evil does not always need to force us to do something we know is wrong. Sometimes it simply needs to convince us that what is wrong is actually right.

Isaiah describes this inversion:

“Woe to those who call evil good

and good evil,

who put darkness for light

and light for darkness.”

— Isaiah 5:20

The danger isn’t simply choosing darkness.

It is reaching the point where we call the darkness light.

The Loudest Voice

There is a fascinating story in 1 Kings 22.

King Ahab is considering going to war. He gathers his prophets and asks whether he should go.

About four hundred prophets give him essentially the same answer:

Go.

You will be victorious.

But Jehoshaphat asks whether there is another prophet of the Lord they can consult.

There is.

His name is Micaiah.

Before Micaiah speaks to the kings, a messenger approaches him and essentially says: Everyone else is saying the same thing. Please agree with them.

Four hundred to one.

That seems like an overwhelming consensus.

But Micaiah refuses to simply repeat what everyone else is saying.

Because reality does not operate by majority vote.

Volume does not determine truth.

Popularity does not determine truth.

My social group does not determine truth.

My political tribe does not determine truth.

My church culture does not determine truth.

And neither do I.

Which brings the question uncomfortably close to home.

What If I’m Wrong?

It is easy to talk about deception as something that happens to other people.

Other people fall for misinformation.

Other people are biased.

Other people are manipulated by their politics.

Other people misunderstand Scripture.

Other people blindly follow the crowd.

But Scripture doesn’t allow me to remain comfortably in that position.

Proverbs says:

“There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.”

— Proverbs 14:12

The frightening word there is appears.

The person walking down that road doesn’t necessarily know he is wrong.

It seems right.

And that means I have to acknowledge an uncomfortable possibility:

I can be wrong.

My experiences may be real, while my interpretation of those experiences is wrong.

My emotions may be real, while the conclusions I draw from them are wrong.

My assumptions may be wrong.

My reasoning may be wrong.

My theological interpretation may be wrong.

And sometimes I can be very confidently wrong.

That realization should produce humility.

But humility is not the same thing as relativism.

There is an enormous difference between saying “I could be wrong” and saying “there is no truth.”

I don’t believe everyone gets to construct his or her own reality. We live together. Our beliefs affect other people. There are questions of right and wrong that we have to wrestle with together.

More fundamentally, I believe reality exists independently of what I think about it.

God does not become something different because I misunderstand Him.

Truth does not become false because I reject it.

Falsehood does not become true because enough people believe it.

Christian humility simply recognizes that I am not God.

I can have convictions while still being willing to listen.

I can say, “I believe this is true, and I have good reasons for believing it,” while remaining willing for God to correct me.

Conviction and humility do not have to be enemies.

When Being Correct Isn’t Enough

As a Seventh-day Adventist Christian, I deeply value our theological heritage.

We have a rich tradition of taking Scripture seriously and studying it carefully. We care about what Scripture teaches about God, salvation, creation, the Sabbath, the sanctuary, judgment, death, resurrection, prophecy, and the return of Christ.

These things matter.

Doctrine matters.

Truth matters.

What we believe about God affects how we understand Him, how we relate to Him, and ultimately how we live.

But there is a subtle danger even within something as good as the pursuit of truth.

We can become so concerned with being correct about God that being correct begins to substitute for actually knowing and trusting God.

Jesus once spoke to people who knew Scripture extraordinarily well:

“You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”

– John