Rational Morality
The Architecture of Lies
The next draft chapter in the upcoming book, “Rational Morality”. Comments are welcome. I’ll publish the final version through the usual book stores and channels when it's all been released online. Enjoy!
Lies do not conquer us all at once. They slip in quietly, dressed as compassion, decency, or civility. At first, they demand only your politeness. Later, they demand your voice. Eventually, they demand your submission. Most people do not consciously choose to live inside a lie. They simply agree not to challenge it. They go along to get along. They remain silent, not because they are convinced, but because speaking out seems like more trouble than it is worth.
That is how deception spreads, not because it is persuasive, but because it becomes easier to repeat than to resist. And when enough people surrender to a falsehood, it no longer looks like a lie. It becomes the new truth, enforced by policies, applauded by institutions, and guarded by fear.
History has seen this happen time and again. The rise of totalitarian regimes in the 20th century provides chilling examples. In the Soviet Union, citizens were compelled to speak a language they did not believe, to celebrate leaders they despised, and to repeat slogans they knew were false. Anne Applebaum describes in Iron Curtain how entire populations learned to survive by pretending. Stating the truth could cost you your job, your family, or your life. So people nodded along, recited what was expected, and went home to whisper the truth behind closed doors.
Today, we are witnessing a new chapter in this old pattern. Once again, the truth is being reshaped to fit an ideology, and dissent is increasingly treated as a moral failing. Perhaps the most striking example is the public denial of biological reality. We are now told that a man can become a woman by simply declaring it so. Institutions, including schools, corporations, and medical associations, affirm this claim without question. Biological sex, once considered a basic fact, is now framed as a social construct. To say otherwise is to risk being labeled transphobic or hateful.
This is not a fringe belief. It has been mainstreamed, mandated, and codified into policy. In some jurisdictions, using a person’s correct biological pronouns can be considered harassment, and people have been jailed as a result. In others, public officials and employees are required to affirm a belief they may not share. This is not tolerance, it is coercion. And yet, few speak up, not because they agree, but because they are afraid to question the narrative so as to avoid punishment. So they repeat the lie, or they say nothing.
At the same time, we are told that Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs are about fairness and belonging. But in practice, many of these initiatives have become tools of exclusion. In the name of equity, white men are often last in line for advancement, funding, or recognition. In the name of inclusion, people are excluded based on immutable traits. And in the name of anti-racism, individuals are asked—sometimes required—to confess to racial guilt they do not feel and sins they did not commit.
Workshops demand that white employees examine their "privilege," apologize for it, and accept responsibility for structural injustices regardless of their actions. This is not education. It is a forced confession, worthy of the Soviet Union. And like all coerced rituals, its goal is not truth but compliance.
These ideas are often justified in the language of progress. We are told that they are necessary for healing, for justice, for safety. But at their core, they function like any lie—they require constant repetition, public affirmation, and the silencing of dissent.
When people comply with what they know to be false, they hollow out their integrity. They train themselves to doubt what their eyes see and what their reason confirms. They begin to censor their thoughts before they speak, and eventually, they stop thinking clearly altogether. Vaclav Havel, who lived under communist rule in Czechoslovakia, described this internal erosion well. In The Power of the Powerless, he wrote:
“The system depends on people accepting the lie and acting as if it were true.”
Only by refusing to participate in the lie, he said, could people reclaim their freedom.
The challenge we face today is not just political or cultural. It is personal. Are we willing to say what we believe is true, even when it is unpopular? Are we willing to risk discomfort, disapproval, even loss, in order to remain honest?
Most people are not ideologues. They are not activists or extremists. They are tired, busy, and cautious. They want to do their jobs, keep their friends, and protect their families. But that very instinct, left unchecked, becomes the soil in which lies grow. When truth becomes too costly to speak, falsehood becomes the public creed.
We must remember that truth does not need force to survive. It does not require censorship or punishment. It simply needs people who are willing to speak the truth and point out the lies.
Lies, on the other hand, are fragile. They require constant reinforcement. They cannot withstand open debate. That is why they are shielded by social pressure, legal threats, and institutional mandates.
It is tempting to think that our silence protects us, that if we stay quiet, the madness will pass us by. But history offers little comfort on that front. Lies do not retreat on their own. They grow, tighten, and consume, until someone finally says, “This isn’t true.” That first voice matters. It always has. Because it breaks the spell, it shows others that they are not alone. And that moment, however small, is where change begins.
If we want to preserve reality, we must start by refusing to betray it. If we want to live in a society that honors reason, evidence, and fairness, we must be willing to speak plainly, even when it is difficult. And if we want our children to grow up in a world where the truth is still recognizable, we must have the courage to defend it, now.
Because silence is not neutral, it is agreement, dressed in softer clothes. And every lie we accept becomes a truth we lose.