Truth and lies

Authentic pedagogy is grounded in truth within the teacher-student relationship. Beyond content, it is the value of words and honesty that enable democratic and transformative education.

The Role of the Educator

Why are we here as educators? Not merely to transmit information to a group of people, but to ensure that knowledge and skills are truly acquired by them. This is an essential prerequisite. If we believe our role is limited to delivering information in a top-down manner, assuming that our responsibility ends there and the rest is up to the students, then we are not engaged in pedagogy.

In my view, pedagogy involves seeing the other as a person we must accompany in their own acquisition of knowledge and skills. That is precisely what pedagogy is. That said, there may still be room for lectures in teaching—I have no objection—but they must be useful to the audience and thoughtfully structured.

Does Teaching Content Have Anything to Do with Truth?

In a pedagogical dialectic—not an obligatory one—the question of truth or falsehood does not seem to be the primary issue. Or, if it were, it would only concern the content we provide: Are we telling the truth? Are we giving accurate or misleading information? That is not what I wish to discuss here, because it is already quite difficult for us to determine whether what we transmit is truth or falsehood. In reality, what we convey, what we pass on, is above all our beliefs.

For example, in literature classes, national education curricula are based on generalized beliefs, with selections of works deemed most useful to young people in a given society. In other countries, different works are chosen. There is no objective truth or consensus on the superiority of certain works over others; criteria vary across cultures, social groups, and individuals. Even in the sciences, truth is not the central issue. Certainly, there are basic mathematical skills—extremely simple and universally shared. But the advanced knowledge we teach stems from cultural choices. We do not reference the same mathematicians or logical approaches across countries, cultures, or the societal visions that schools in those socio-political contexts are meant to serve.

Take an economics course: here, it’s even more pronounced, if I may say so. There is no economic “truth.” There are diverse economic thinkers, and we teach certain theories—some entirely opposed to others—yet all find justifications for their validity. Which one is right? That’s not the point.

And if we consider history, it is perhaps the most subjective field of all! The way a country’s or the world’s history is narrated is deeply political. What do we choose to emphasize? This has nothing to do with truth.

The Truth of the Teacher-Student Relationship

What I propose to examine here is the truth of the relationship between teacher and student—that is, the value of the teacher’s word.

Let’s take a simple example, outside the classroom but very telling: a child asking for candy. A child wants a candy. We’re on the street and know there’s a bakery around the corner that sells some. The child craves it, but we’re convinced it’s bad for their health, and we believe our duty as adults is to prevent it.

Two options present themselves:

1. The truth: We continue walking, and the child will see the bakery.
2. The lie: We change our route and say, “I’d love to give you candy, but there isn’t any around here.”

The child may then let go of the craving. But if, days later, they pass by and discover the bakery, what will we do?

• Double down on the lie (“I didn’t know”* or *“It was closed”)?
• Or admit we lied?

Either way, the child will realize they’ve been deceived. Their compliance was secured through trickery. What they learn is that human relationships are built on lies and manipulation. This, in my view, is deeply damaging educationally.

As educators—or simply as responsible adults—we carry an educational mission, even toward a child entrusted to us for five minutes or met on the street. Lying like this harms the world. It may seem trivial, but it builds a bleak future.

What Would the Truthful Approach Have Been?

We should have told the child: “We’re about to pass a bakery, but I think it’s better for you not to eat candy—it’s unhealthy, and I don’t want to buy you any.”

Would they have negotiated, cried, or gotten angry? Yes, the moment might have been difficult. But it would have fostered a stronger relationship, critical reflection, and debate—perhaps even about ecology, far more engaging than a candy, and we might have reached an understanding with the child.

Truth always aligns with complexity, never simplicity. It is harder to address, but it builds far deeper intellectual, democratic, and educational rigor.

Collectively Embracing Truth as a Risk

Taking this risk means choosing real confrontation with the other—that is, democracy. It is within this space that debates, connections, and mutual discoveries emerge. This is only possible through truth.

In a classroom, this means acknowledging that our perspective is just one among many. For example, admitting that our history lesson is merely one interpretation of the world—the one we’re asked to teach, but not the only one. This opens frightening debates, but it is here that we truly become educators.

Truth also means keeping one’s word. If a student asks for materials by the next class, being truthful means noting this commitment in our agenda and honoring it. Otherwise, the student will understand we manipulated them to placate them. If we doubt we can fulfill the promise, it’s better not to make it. And if we fail, we should start by apologizing in the next session and renegotiate.

Finally, the fear of truth’s consequences is often overestimated. We multiply small lies fearing overreactions, yet truthfulness defuses far more tension than we expect. When we lie, it’s because we fear others. And this fear, ingrained in the collective unconscious, does not build healthy relationships.

Truth in relationships, however difficult, is the only path to authentic education.