Be Careful What You Think You Know

We live in a world where information is everywhere—and truth feels harder to find than ever. You’ve probably heard it: “This shooter was trans.” “The president is dead.” “Antidepressants are behind mass violence.” Each of these claims has been circulated with confidence by some voices, only to collapse under closer scrutiny.

Yet for a moment, they felt believable.

Because in today’s culture, headlines are designed to provoke, algorithms are designed to polarize, and narratives are designed to stick. The danger isn’t just misinformation—it’s how quickly we start building our worldview on it.

The Trouble With “Certainty”

Take SSRIs, for example. When Robert F. Kennedy Jr. suggested that antidepressants might be fueling mass shootings, it made national headlines. For many, the claim rang true—not because the data supported it, but because it connected with existing distrust of Big Pharma, the medical establishment, or the cultural reliance on prescription drugs. It “felt” right to people already primed to believe it.

But the evidence tells a different story. Most shooters were not on SSRIs. Clinical studies consistently show that while antidepressants can increase suicidal thoughts in certain age groups, they are not associated with violent rampages. Yet the claim still spread widely, because fear and suspicion are powerful accelerants in the fire of public discourse.

The same thing happens with identity-based accusations. Whenever a mass shooting occurs, rumors quickly circulate online: “The shooter was trans.” “The shooter was gay.” “The shooter was tied to some fringe group.” In reality, the majority of these claims collapse under fact-checking.

Still, they are repeated and retweeted thousands of times, often long after corrections are issued. Why? Because they serve an agenda.

They allow one political camp to blame another. They provide a simple, emotionally satisfying explanation in place of the complex, uncomfortable realities of violence, isolation, and despair.

What both of these examples reveal is how easily we mistake confirmation for truth. When information aligns with our fears, suspicions, or political loyalties, we hold onto it tightly. Certainty becomes a comfort—even if it’s false.

This is dangerous because it short-circuits the hard work of discernment. Instead of asking, “What’s the evidence? What do we know for sure? What’s still unclear?” we settle for “This matches what I already believe, so it must be right.” And in doing so, we build echo chambers that not only distort reality but also deepen division.

Today, we can't be overconfident in what we think we know. That misplaced certainty shapes how we vote, how we parent, how we treat our neighbors, and even how we understand God’s work in the world.

Who Controls the Narrative?

Here’s a sobering fact: according to MIT research, three corporate conglomerates own the majority of mainstream U.S. news outlets. That means the stories we see, the angles chosen, and the voices amplified are all filtered through a limited top-down lens.

But the story doesn’t end with corporate media ownership. In many ways, it’s just the beginning.

The next layer of control comes from algorithms—the invisible gatekeepers of our digital lives. Meta (Facebook and Instagram), Google (including YouTube), and TikTok don’t just host information; they decide what rises to the top of your feed, what gets buried, and what disappears altogether. These platforms claim neutrality, but their systems are built to maximize engagement, not truth.

That means posts that spark outrage, fear, or strong emotions get pushed forward, while calm analysis or inconvenient facts are quietly sidelined. Sometimes, entire viewpoints are flagged, demonetized, or shadow-banned—not necessarily because they are false, but because they don’t fit the platform’s goals or policies.

The effect is subtle but profound: a handful of corporations now dictate not just what is available, but what is visible. And if it’s not visible, for most people, it might as well not exist.

This doesn’t mean every story is fake or every journalist corrupt. It does mean that “the news” and “the feed” aren’t neutral. They’re curated. Sometimes for clicks, sometimes for profit, sometimes for power.

The Real Risk: Intellectual Laziness

When we stop questioning, when we share without checking, when we let headlines shape our worldview without digging deeper—that’s when we’re most vulnerable. Our culture thrives on speed: hot takes, quick shares, instant reactions. But truth doesn’t usually arrive in a soundbite. It takes work to uncover. It takes time to test. It takes courage to admit when we don’t have the whole picture.

Truth takes work. It’s easier to accept the first version of a story we hear, especially if it matches our existing assumptions. But real truth requires us to dig—reading from multiple sources, asking deeper questions, and considering perspectives we don’t naturally agree with.

Wisdom requires patience. Wisdom isn’t formed in the rush of the moment. It comes from reflection, waiting, even silence. A patient person doesn’t just absorb noise; they filter it, weigh it, and discern what is solid and what is hollow. That’s countercultural in an age where being “first” matters more than being right.

Discernment demands humility. Perhaps the hardest part: admitting we don’t know everything. Pride makes us want to look informed, to jump in with strong opinions, to have the last word. Humility makes space for the possibility that we’re wrong—or at least incomplete. That kind of posture keeps us teachable.

And here’s the key: being careful about what you think you know doesn’t mean becoming cynical, distrusting every source, or living in conspiracy land. Cynicism is just another shortcut—it lets us dismiss everything without doing the work of discernment. Conspiracies, on the other hand, often give a false sense of mastery: “I see what the sheeple don’t.” Both approaches dodge the hard middle ground where maturity lives.

Instead, this way of living means holding space for complexity. It means asking, “What do I actually know, and what am I assuming?” It means resisting the rush to blame or the comfort of a simple answer. It means being willing to sit in tension—accepting that sometimes the truth takes longer to emerge, and sometimes it’s less neat than we’d like.

When we do this, we become harder to manipulate. We become more thoughtful neighbors, better citizens, and more faithful disciples. In a world addicted to quick certainty, careful curiosity might just be one of the most radical forms of wisdom we can practice.

A Spiritual Turn: Anchored in Truth

For me, this conversation can’t stop at the cultural level. At the deepest level, truth isn’t just information—it’s transformation. It’s not only about what’s out there; it’s about what’s in here.

The Bible puts it this way: “We are no longer to be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14). In other words, don’t get blown around by every narrative, every rumor, every fear-driven headline.

Jesus even raised the bar higher when He said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (John 14:6). Truth isn’t an abstract concept—it’s personal. It’s found in Him.

So what does that mean in practice?

• Discernment is discipleship. Learning to test ideas against Scripture, wisdom, and community is part of following Christ.

• Truth is relational. The more rooted I am in Jesus, the less I get swayed by the noise of culture.

• Humility is protection. Admitting what I don’t know keeps me from spreading harm and keeps my heart open to real growth.

  
  

Being careful about what we think we know is more than a civic responsibility. It’s a spiritual calling. There's enough distortion in the world already. We need people to carry truth with humility, courage, and hope.