CAN WE FIND OUR OWN TRUTH?

Truth discovered steadies the soul; invented truth dissolves.

Few ideas feel more empowering in our age than the phrase “my truth.” It sounds liberating, humane, and respectful. It suggests authenticity over oppression, experience over dogma, and personal story over imposed authority.

In a culture that prizes self-expression, the freedom to define reality for oneself appears almost sacred. Yet beneath its warm tone lies a serious philosophical question. Can truth actually be created by the individual, or can it only be discovered?

The distinction matters more than we often realise. If truth is something we invent, then it shifts with preference. If it is something we encounter, then it stands outside us, whether we welcome it or resist it.

Truth Is Not a Mood

Human beings interpret reality differently, and perspective certainly shapes experience. Two people can walk through the same storm and describe it in opposite ways. One calls it cleansing, another oppressive. Their interpretations vary, yet the storm itself remains an objective event. Rain falls whether one enjoys it or not.

The same principle applies to moral and spiritual claims. A person may feel that honesty is optional in certain circumstances, yet the damage caused by deception unfolds regardless of the justification offered. When trust is broken, something real has been harmed. We may redefine the act in softer language, yet relationships fracture all the same.

This reveals a deeper truth. Feelings describe our internal response to reality; they do not create reality. To confuse the two is to build a house on shifting sand.

The Law of Non-Contradiction Still Stands

Consider a simple logical principle that has guided rational thought since ancient philosophy: a statement cannot be both true and false in the same sense at the same time. If one worldview claims that God is personal and triune, and another claims that ultimate reality is impersonal, both cannot be simultaneously accurate descriptions of the same reality. They may each contain elements of insight, yet their core claims cannot coexist without collapsing into incoherence.

Our culture often responds by suggesting that each is “true for the believer.” That phrase avoids tension, yet it quietly abandons meaning. If truth becomes entirely subjective, the word itself loses definition. A belief may be emphatically held, yet sincerity does not guarantee correspondence with reality. History offers sobering examples of deeply sincere convictions that proved devastatingly wrong.

If this principle holds, then it reaches far beyond philosophical neatness. It presses upon our understanding of God Himself.

If truth is real and non-contradictory, then God is not a projection of culture or temperament. He is who He is, independent of our preference, and that carries weight. If God is personal and triune, as Christianity confesses, then ultimate reality is relational at its core. Love is not a late human invention; it belongs to the structure of being. Our longing for communion reflects something eternal.

If ultimate reality were impersonal, then personhood would be accidental and temporary. Love would reduce to chemistry, and moral outrage would lose its foundation. Yet most of us instinctively experience love as binding and betrayal as genuine harm. Those reactions suggest that reality itself is not indifferent.

The consequence of objective truth about God is therefore profound. We are not free to reshape Him into a manageable symbol. We cannot soften His holiness when it confronts us, nor redefine His character to suit the spirit of an age. Our task is not to edit Him but to know Him.

At first this appears restrictive, when it is in truth, wonderfully liberating.

A self-created deity must constantly be protected and adjusted, when a discovered God can be trusted. If His character is steady, then His promises are steady. There is beauty here. If truth about God is objective, it can be shared and examined. It invites thought, history, and witness rather than retreating into private sentiment. It also restrains us. When belief detaches from reality, damage follows. Objective truth calls us back from distortion and anchors moral clarity.

The beauty of God’s truth is therefore not merely logical consistency. It is moral seriousness and relational depth. If He truly is holy, then evil matters. If He truly is love, then grace carries substance. If He has acted in history, then redemption is not wishful thinking but intervention.

A God shaped by preference leaves us alone with ourselves. A God who exists in truth can correct, restore, and sustain. When truth stands beyond us, it humbles us, yet it also steadies us, because only what is real can finally hold the weight of a human life.

Personal Experience Is Powerful but Limited

Modern culture places extraordinary weight on lived experience. Experience certainly matters. It shapes our perception and often reveals injustice or beauty that theory alone cannot capture. Yet experience is also partial and sometimes misleading.

A child who has only seen the ocean on a calm day might conclude that it is always gentle. A sailor who has survived a hurricane would describe it differently. Both speak from experience, yet neither perspective alone exhausts the reality of the sea.

In the same way, personal spiritual impressions cannot function as the ultimate court of appeal. They must be tested against something stable, something beyond the self. Otherwise, the self becomes both author and judge of its own conclusions, and correction becomes impossible.

Moral Reality Suggests Objective Truth

Most people, even those who speak of relative truth, react strongly when confronted with injustice. When confronted with exploitation, abuse, or betrayal, the response is rarely mild. We do not merely say, “That is your truth and this is mine.” We instinctively appeal to something higher, to a moral standard that transcends personal preference.

This reaction reveals something profound. Our outrage assumes that certain actions are genuinely wrong, not simply inconvenient or culturally unfashionable. The human heart recognises moral gravity even when the mind struggles to articulate its source.

C.S. Lewis argued persuasively that this universal moral intuition points beyond individual construction toward a real moral law. Such a law suggests a Lawgiver, or at the very least a moral structure embedded in reality itself. Either way, morality appears discovered rather than invented.

The Burden of Self-Created Truth

At first glance, crafting one’s own truth feels empowering. Over time, however, it becomes exhausting. If reality bends to personal definition, then every challenge becomes a threat to identity. Disagreement feels like erasure. Correction appears hostile rather than helpful.

A life built upon self-defined truth also struggles to sustain meaningful dialogue. Conversation requires shared ground, some common standard by which claims can be evaluated. Without that foundation, discussion dissolves into parallel monologues.

Moreover, when truth depends entirely on individual construction, it offers little comfort in suffering. Pain does not evaporate because we redefine it. Disease does not retreat because we reinterpret biology. The body and the world respond to objective realities whether we acknowledge them or not.

Truth as Gift Rather Than Invention

There is a quieter and more stable alternative. Truth may be something we receive rather than manufacture. It may confront us, challenge us, even humble us, yet it also steadies us. When truth stands outside the self, it can anchor the self.

The Christian Scriptures present truth in precisely this way. Jesus speaks of Himself as “the way, and the truth, and the life” in John 14:6. This claim is exclusive, and yet it is not arrogant in the human sense. It does not arise from tribal pride or cultural dominance. It rests on the conviction that reality itself has a personal source and that this source has revealed Himself in history.

If that claim is false, it should be rejected. If it is true, it cannot be reshaped to suit preference. It must be received on its own terms.

Why This Matters Personally

The desire to find our own truth often springs from a longing to be seen and respected. No one wants their story dismissed or their voice silenced. Yet genuine dignity does not require the invention of private reality. It rests on being known by the One who made reality.

In my own reflections, the turning point did not come from crafting a narrative that suited me. It came from encountering a truth that confronted and corrected me, yet also restored me. There is relief in surrendering the burden of authorship and allowing oneself to be shaped by what is real.

Truth is not a weapon to control others. It is light. It exposes, yet it also guides. When we insist on defining it ourselves, we remain confined to the limits of our own perspective. When we seek it humbly, we step into something larger, something solid enough to carry the weight of our questions and strong enough to withstand our doubts.

The deeper question, then, is not whether we can invent our own truth. It is whether we are willing to encounter truth as it is, even when it unsettles us, because only truth that stands beyond us can ultimately hold us.