May 2008

Adults lie constantly to kids.

I'm not saying we should stop, but I think we should at least examine which lies we tell and why.

There may also be a benefit to us.

We were all lied to as kids, and some of the lies we were told still affect us.

So by studying the ways adults lie to kids, we may be able to clear our heads of lies we were told.

I'm using the word "lie" in a very general sense: not just overt falsehoods, but also all the more subtle ways we mislead kids.

Though "lie" has negative connotations, I don't mean to suggest we should never do this—just that we should pay attention when we do. [1]

One of the most remarkable things about the way we lie to kids is how broad the conspiracy is.

All adults know what their culture lies to kids about: they're the questions you answer "Ask your parents."

If a kid asked who won the World Series in 1982 or what the atomic weight of carbon was, you could just tell him.

But if a kid asks you "Is there a God?" or "What's a prostitute?" you'll probably say "Ask your parents."

Since we all agree, kids see few cracks in the view of the world presented to them.

The biggest disagreements are between parents and schools, but even those are small.

Schools are careful what they say about controversial topics, and if they do contradict what parents want their kids to believe, parents either pressure the school into keeping quiet or move their kids to a new school.

The conspiracy is so thorough that most kids who discover it do so only by discovering internal contradictions in what they're told.

It can be traumatic for the ones who wake up during the operation.

Here's what happened to Einstein:

Through the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much in the stories of the Bible could not be true. The consequence was a positively fanatic freethinking coupled with the impression that youth is intentionally being deceived by the state through lies: it was a crushing impression. [2]

I remember that feeling.

By 15 I was convinced the world was corrupt from end to end.

That's why movies like The Matrix have such resonance.

Every kid grows up in a fake world.

In a way it would be easier if the forces behind it were as clearly differentiated as a bunch of evil machines, and one could make a clean break just by taking a pill.

Adults lie constantly to kids. We should examine which lies we tell and why—partly because some of the lies we were told still affect us, so studying them may clear our heads.

I mean "lie" very generally: not just overt falsehoods, but all the subtler ways we mislead kids. I don't mean we should never do it—just that we should pay attention when we do.

What's remarkable is how broad the conspiracy is. Every culture has its "ask your parents" questions: who won the World Series in 1982 you just answer, but "Is there a God?" gets deferred. Since we all agree, kids see few cracks in the world we present.

The conspiracy is so thorough that most kids discover it only by finding internal contradictions, and it can be traumatic to wake up during the operation. Reading popular science convinced Einstein much of the Bible couldn't be true, and the sense that youth was being deliberately deceived was a crushing impression.

I remember that feeling. By 15 I was convinced the world was corrupt from end to end. That's why The Matrix resonates: every kid grows up in a fake world, and it would be easier if the forces behind it were evil machines you could escape by taking a pill.

Adults lie constantly to kids, and not just overt lies — every subtle way we mislead them. The conspiracy is so broad and unanimous that kids see no cracks, and discovering it can be traumatic.

If you ask adults why they lie to kids, the most common reason they give is to protect them.

And kids do need protecting.

The environment you want to create for a newborn child will be quite unlike the streets of a big city.

That seems so obvious it seems wrong to call it a lie.

It's certainly not a bad lie to tell, to give a baby the impression the world is quiet and warm and safe.

But this harmless type of lie can turn sour if left unexamined.

Imagine if you tried to keep someone in as protected an environment as a newborn till age 18.

To mislead someone so grossly about the world would seem not protection but abuse.

That's an extreme example, of course; when parents do that sort of thing it becomes national news.

But you see the same problem on a smaller scale in the malaise teenagers feel in suburbia.

The main purpose of suburbia is to provide a protected environment for children to grow up in.

And it seems great for 10 year olds.

I liked living in suburbia when I was 10.

I didn't notice how sterile it was.

My whole world was no bigger than a few friends' houses I bicycled to and some woods I ran around in.

On a log scale I was midway between crib and globe.

A suburban street was just the right size.

But as I grew older, suburbia started to feel suffocatingly fake.

Life can be pretty good at 10 or 20, but it's often frustrating at 15.

This is too big a problem to solve here, but certainly one reason life sucks at 15 is that kids are trapped in a world designed for 10 year olds.

What do parents hope to protect their children from by raising them in suburbia?

A friend who moved out of Manhattan said merely that her 3 year old daughter "saw too much."

Off the top of my head, that might include: people who are high or drunk, poverty, madness, gruesome medical conditions, sexual behavior of various degrees of oddness, and violent anger.

I think it's the anger that would worry me most if I had a 3 year old.

I was 29 when I moved to New York and I was surprised even then.

I wouldn't want a 3 year old to see some of the disputes I saw.

It would be too frightening.

A lot of the things adults conceal from smaller children, they conceal because they'd be frightening, not because they want to conceal the existence of such things.

Misleading the child is just a byproduct.

This seems one of the most justifiable types of lying adults do to kids.

But because the lies are indirect we don't keep a very strict accounting of them.

Parents know they've concealed the facts about sex, and many at some point sit their kids down and explain more.

But few tell their kids about the differences between the real world and the cocoon they grew up in.

Combine this with the confidence parents try to instill in their kids, and every year you get a new crop of 18 year olds who think they know how to run the world.

Don't all 18 year olds think they know how to run the world?

Actually this seems to be a recent innovation, no more than about 100 years old.

In preindustrial times teenage kids were junior members of the adult world and comparatively well aware of their shortcomings.

They could see they weren't as strong or skillful as the village smith.

In past times people lied to kids about some things more than we do now, but the lies implicit in an artificial, protected environment are a recent invention.

Like a lot of new inventions, the rich got this first. Children of kings and great magnates were the first to grow up out of touch with the world.

Suburbia means half the population can live like kings in that respect.

Ask adults why they lie and they'll say it's to protect kids—and kids do need it. It seems wrong to even call this a lie, but this harmless type can turn sour if left unexamined.

Keeping someone as protected as a newborn till 18 would be not protection but abuse. You see the same problem, smaller, in the malaise teenagers feel in suburbia.

Suburbia exists to protect kids, and it's great for 10 year olds. I liked it then and didn't notice how sterile it was; my whole world was a few friends' houses and some woods. But as I grew older, it started to feel suffocatingly fake.

What do parents protect kids from in suburbia? A friend who left Manhattan said her 3 year old "saw too much"—people high or drunk, poverty, madness, violent anger. Adults conceal such things because they'd frighten small children, not to hide their existence; misleading the child is just a byproduct.

Because these lies are indirect we don't keep strict accounting. Few explain how the real world differs from the cocoon, so combined with the confidence parents instill, every year you get a crop of 18 year olds who think they can run the world.

Actually that's a recent innovation, barely 100 years old. In preindustrial times teenagers were junior members of the adult world, aware they weren't as skillful as the village smith. The lies implicit in an artificial protected environment are new—and like many inventions the rich got them first, while suburbia lets half the population live like kings that way.

The most common reason adults give for lying is protection, and it's often justified. But the protected environment of suburbia turns sour unexamined, producing teenagers who feel suffocated and 18 year olds who think they can run the world.

I'd have different worries about raising teenage kids in New York.

I'd worry less about what they'd see, and more about what they'd do.

I went to college with a lot of kids who grew up in Manhattan, and as a rule they seemed pretty jaded.

They seemed to have lost their virginity at an average of about 14 and by college had tried more drugs than I'd even heard of.

The reasons parents don't want their teenage kids having sex are complex.

There are some obvious dangers: pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases.

But those aren't the only reasons parents don't want their kids having sex.

The average parents of a 14 year old girl would hate the idea of her having sex even if there were zero risk of pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases.

Kids can probably sense they aren't being told the whole story.

After all, pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases are just as much a problem for adults, and they have sex.

What really bothers parents about their teenage kids having sex?

Their dislike of the idea is so visceral it's probably inborn.

But if it's inborn it should be universal, and there are plenty of societies where parents don't mind if their teenage kids have sex—indeed, where it's normal for 14 year olds to become mothers.

So what's going on?

There does seem to be a universal taboo against sex with prepubescent children.

One can imagine evolutionary reasons for that.

And I think this is the main reason parents in industrialized societies dislike teenage kids having sex.

They still think of them as children, even though biologically they're not, so the taboo against child sex still has force.

One thing adults conceal about sex they also conceal about drugs: that it can cause great pleasure.

That's what makes sex and drugs so dangerous.

The desire for them can cloud one's judgement—which is especially frightening when the judgement being clouded is the already wretched judgement of a teenage kid.

Here parents' desires conflict.

Older societies told kids they had bad judgement, but modern parents want their children to be confident.

This may well be a better plan than the old one of putting them in their place, but it has the side effect that after having implicitly lied to kids about how good their judgement is, we then have to lie again about all the things they might get into trouble with if they believed us.

If parents told their kids the truth about sex and drugs, it would be: the reason you should avoid these things is that you have lousy judgement.

People with twice your experience still get burned by them.

But this may be one of those cases where the truth wouldn't be convincing, because one of the symptoms of bad judgement is believing you have good judgement.

When you're too weak to lift something, you can tell, but when you're making a decision impetuously, you're all the more sure of it.

In New York I'd worry less about what teenage kids would see and more about what they'd do. The Manhattan kids I knew in college seemed jaded—lost their virginity around 14, and had tried more drugs than I'd heard of.

The reasons are complex. The obvious dangers are pregnancy and disease, but the average parents of a 14 year old girl would hate the idea even at zero risk. Kids can probably sense they aren't being told the whole story.

Their dislike is so visceral it's probably inborn—but if it were, it would be universal, and there are societies where 14 year olds normally become mothers. The one universal taboo is against sex with prepubescent children, and that's the real reason: parents still think of teenagers as children, so the taboo still has force.

One thing adults conceal about sex they also conceal about drugs: that it can cause great pleasure. The desire clouds judgement—especially frightening when it's the already wretched judgement of a teenager.

Here parents' desires conflict: older societies told kids they had bad judgement, modern parents want them confident, so after lying about how good their judgement is, we have to lie again about everything they'd get into. The truth wouldn't convince anyway, because one symptom of bad judgement is believing you have good judgement. When you're too weak to lift something you can tell; when you decide impetuously you're all the more sure of it.

Parents' real reasons for not wanting teenagers to have sex aren't pregnancy or disease—they still think of teens as children, so the taboo against child sex applies. And what they conceal about sex and drugs is that both cause great pleasure, which clouds already bad judgement.

Another reason parents don't want their kids having sex is that they want to keep them innocent.

Adults have a certain model of how kids are supposed to behave, and it's different from what they expect of other adults.

One of the most obvious differences is the words kids are allowed to use.

Most parents use words when talking to other adults that they wouldn't want their kids using.

They try to hide even the existence of these words for as long as they can.

And this is another of those conspiracies everyone participates in: everyone knows you're not supposed to swear in front of kids.

I've never heard more different explanations for anything parents tell kids than why they shouldn't swear.

Every parent I know forbids their children to swear, and yet no two of them have the same justification.

It's clear most start with not wanting kids to swear, then make up the reason afterward.

So my theory about what's going on is that the function of swearwords is to mark the speaker as an adult.

There's no difference in the meaning of "shit" and "poopoo."

So why should one be ok for kids to say and one forbidden?

The only explanation is: by definition. [3]

Why does it bother adults so much when kids do things reserved for adults?

The idea of a foul-mouthed, cynical 10 year old leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth is very disconcerting.

But why?

One reason we want kids to be innocent is that we're programmed to like certain kinds of helplessness.

I've several times heard mothers say they deliberately refrained from correcting their young children's mispronunciations because they were so cute.

And if you think about it, cuteness is helplessness.

Toys and cartoon characters meant to be cute always have clueless expressions and stubby, ineffectual limbs.

It's not surprising we'd have an inborn desire to love and protect helpless creatures, considering human offspring are so helpless for so long.

Without the helplessness that makes kids cute, they'd be very annoying.

They'd merely seem like incompetent adults.

But there's more to it than that.

The reason our hypothetical jaded 10 year old bothers me so much is not just that he'd be annoying, but that he'd have cut off his prospects for growth so early.

To be jaded you have to think you know how the world works, and any theory a 10 year old had about that would probably be a pretty narrow one.

Innocence is also open-mindedness.

We want kids to be innocent so they can continue to learn.

Paradoxical as it sounds, there are some kinds of knowledge that get in the way of other kinds of knowledge.

If you're going to learn that the world is a brutal place full of people trying to take advantage of one another, you're better off learning it last. Otherwise you won't bother learning much more.

Very smart adults often seem unusually innocent, and I don't think this is a coincidence.

I think they've deliberately avoided learning about certain things.

Certainly I do.

I used to think I wanted to know everything.

Now I know I don't.

Another reason parents don't want kids having sex is to keep them innocent. One obvious difference from adults is swearing: parents use words they'd hide from their kids, and everyone agrees you don't swear in front of children.

I've never heard more different explanations for anything than why kids shouldn't swear. Every parent forbids it, yet no two agree—clearly most start with not wanting it, then invent the reason.

So my theory is that the function of swearwords is to mark the speaker as an adult. There's no difference in meaning between "shit" and "poopoo." So why is one ok and one forbidden? The only explanation is: by definition.

We're also programmed to like helplessness, and cuteness is helplessness: toys and cartoon characters meant to be cute have clueless expressions and stubby, ineffectual limbs.

But there's more: a jaded 10 year old bothers me because he'd have cut off his prospects for growth so early. To be jaded you have to think you know how the world works, and a 10 year old's theory would be narrow.

Innocence is also open-mindedness; we want kids innocent so they can keep learning. Some kinds of knowledge get in the way of others: if you're going to learn the world is brutal, learn it last, or you won't bother learning much more.

Very smart adults often seem unusually innocent, and that's no coincidence—they've deliberately avoided learning certain things. I used to think I wanted to know everything. Now I know I don't.

Another reason is to keep kids innocent—which shows up in the swearwords they can't use, whose real function is to mark the speaker as an adult. We want kids innocent partly because cuteness is helplessness, and partly because innocence is open-mindedness that keeps them learning.

After sex, death is the topic adults lie most conspicuously about to kids.

Sex I believe they conceal because of deep taboos.

But why do we conceal death from kids?

Probably because small children are particularly horrified by it.

They want to feel safe, and death is the ultimate threat.

One of the most spectacular lies our parents told us was about the death of our first cat.

Over the years, as we asked for more details, they were compelled to invent more, so the story grew quite elaborate.

The cat had died at the vet's office.

Of what?

Of the anaesthesia itself.

Why was the cat at the vet's office?

To be fixed.

And why had such a routine operation killed it?

It wasn't the vet's fault; the cat had a congenitally weak heart; the anaesthesia was too much for it; but there was no way anyone could have known this in advance.

It was not till we were in our twenties that the truth came out: my sister, then about three, had accidentally stepped on the cat and broken its back.

They didn't feel the need to tell us the cat was now happily in cat heaven.

My parents never claimed that people or animals who died had "gone to a better place," or that we'd meet them again.

It didn't seem to harm us.

My grandmother told us an edited version of the death of my grandfather.

She said they'd been sitting reading one day, and when she said something to him, he didn't answer.

He seemed to be asleep, but when she tried to rouse him, she couldn't.

"He was gone."

Having a heart attack sounded like falling asleep.

Later I learned it hadn't been so neat, and the heart attack had taken most of a day to kill him.

Along with such outright lies, there must have been a lot of changing the subject when death came up.

I can't remember that, of course, but I can infer it from the fact that I didn't really grasp I was going to die till I was about 19.

How could I have missed something so obvious for so long?

Now that I've seen parents managing the subject, I can see how: questions about death are gently but firmly turned aside.

On this topic, especially, they're met half-way by kids.

Kids often want to be lied to.

They want to believe they're living in a comfortable, safe world as much as their parents want them to believe it. [4]

After sex, death is the topic adults lie most conspicuously about—probably because small children are particularly horrified by it. They want to feel safe, and death is the ultimate threat.

The most spectacular lie our parents told was about our first cat. As we asked for details, they invented more: it died at the vet's, of the anaesthesia, because of a weak heart no one could have known about. Not till our twenties did the truth emerge—my sister, then three, had stepped on the cat and broken its back.

They never claimed the dead had "gone to a better place," and it didn't seem to harm us. My grandmother told an edited version of my grandfather's death: he didn't answer when she spoke, seemed asleep, couldn't be roused. "He was gone." A heart attack sounded like falling asleep, though it really took most of a day to kill him.

There must also have been a lot of changing the subject; I didn't really grasp I would die till about 19. Now I see how it's done: questions about death are gently but firmly turned aside. On this topic especially, kids meet them half-way—they often want to be lied to, wanting to believe the world is safe as much as their parents do.

After sex, death is what adults lie most about, because small children are horrified by it. My parents' elaborate lie about our cat's death, and my grandmother's edited account of my grandfather's, show how the subject gets managed—often with kids meeting them half-way, wanting to be lied to.

Some parents feel a strong adherence to an ethnic or religious group and want their kids to feel it too.

This usually requires two different kinds of lying: the first is to tell the child that he or she is an X, and the second is whatever specific lies Xes differentiate themselves by believing. [5]

Telling a child they have a particular ethnic or religious identity is one of the stickiest things you can tell them.

Almost anything else you tell a kid, they can change their mind about later when they start to think for themselves.

But if you tell a kid they're a member of a certain group, that seems nearly impossible to shake.

This despite the fact that it can be one of the most premeditated lies parents tell.

When parents are of different religions, they'll often agree between themselves that their children will be "raised as Xes."

And it works.

The kids obligingly grow up considering themselves as Xes, despite the fact that if their parents had chosen the other way, they'd have grown up considering themselves as Ys.

One reason this works so well is the second kind of lie involved.

The truth is common property.

You can't distinguish your group by doing things that are rational, and believing things that are true.

If you want to set yourself apart from other people, you have to do things that are arbitrary, and believe things that are false.

And after having spent their whole lives doing things that are arbitrary and believing things that are false, and being regarded as odd by "outsiders" on that account, the cognitive dissonance pushing children to regard themselves as Xes must be enormous.

If they aren't an X, why are they attached to all these arbitrary beliefs and customs?

If they aren't an X, why do all the non-Xes call them one?

This form of lie is not without its uses.

You can use it to carry a payload of beneficial beliefs, and they will also become part of the child's identity.

You can tell the child that in addition to never wearing the color yellow, believing the world was created by a giant rabbit, and always snapping their fingers before eating fish, Xes are also particularly honest and industrious.

Then X children will grow up feeling it's part of their identity to be honest and industrious.

This probably accounts for a lot of the spread of modern religions, and explains why their doctrines are a combination of the useful and the bizarre.

The bizarre half is what makes the religion stick, and the useful half is the payload. [6]

Some parents want their kids to share their ethnic or religious group, which requires two lies: telling the child he's an X, and the specific lies Xes believe. Identity is one of the stickiest things you can tell a child—anything else they can change their mind about later, but group membership seems nearly impossible to shake.

This despite being one of the most premeditated lies parents tell. Parents of different religions agree their children will be "raised as Xes." And it works—though had they chosen otherwise, the kids would consider themselves Ys.

The truth is common property—you can't distinguish your group by doing rational things and believing true ones. To set yourself apart you have to do arbitrary things and believe false ones. After a lifetime of that, regarded as odd by outsiders, the dissonance pushing children to regard themselves as Xes is enormous: if they aren't an X, why are they attached to all this?

This lie has its uses: it can carry a payload of beneficial beliefs. Tell the child that, besides never wearing yellow, Xes are particularly honest and industrious, and they'll grow up feeling it. This explains the spread of modern religions: the bizarre half makes it stick, and the useful half is the payload.

Wanting kids to share an ethnic or religious identity requires two lies: telling them they're an X, and the specific false beliefs Xes differentiate themselves by. The arbitrary, false beliefs are what make identity stick so hard—and they can carry a payload of useful beliefs too.

One of the least excusable reasons adults lie to kids is to maintain power over them.

Sometimes these lies are truly sinister, like a child molester telling his victims they'll get in trouble if they tell anyone what happened to them.

Others seem more innocent; it depends how badly adults lie to maintain their power, and what they use it for.

Most adults make some effort to conceal their flaws from children.

Usually their motives are mixed.

For example, a father who has an affair generally conceals it from his children.

His motive is partly that it would worry them, partly that this would introduce the topic of sex, and partly (a larger part than he would admit) that he doesn't want to tarnish himself in their eyes.

If you want to learn what lies are told to kids, read almost any book written to teach them about "issues." [7] Peter Mayle wrote one called Why Are We Getting a Divorce? It begins with the three most important things to remember about divorce, one of which is:

You shouldn't put the blame on one parent, because divorce is never only one person's fault. [8]

Really?

When a man runs off with his secretary, is it always partly his wife's fault?

But I can see why Mayle might have said this.

Maybe it's more important for kids to respect their parents than to know the truth about them.

But because adults conceal their flaws, and at the same time insist on high standards of behavior for kids, a lot of kids grow up feeling they fall hopelessly short.

They walk around feeling horribly evil for having used a swearword, while in fact most of the adults around them are doing much worse things.

This happens in intellectual as well as moral questions.

The more confident people are, the more willing they seem to be to answer a question "I don't know."

Less confident people feel they have to have an answer or they'll look bad.

My parents were pretty good about admitting when they didn't know things, but I must have been told a lot of lies of this type by teachers, because I rarely heard a teacher say "I don't know" till I got to college.

I remember because it was so surprising to hear someone say that in front of a class.

The first hint I had that teachers weren't omniscient came in sixth grade, after my father contradicted something I'd learned in school.

When I protested that the teacher had said the opposite, my father replied that the guy had no idea what he was talking about—that he was just an elementary school teacher, after all.

Just a teacher?

The phrase seemed almost grammatically ill-formed.

Didn't teachers know everything about the subjects they taught?

And if not, why were they the ones teaching us?

The sad fact is, US public school teachers don't generally understand the stuff they're teaching very well.

There are some sterling exceptions, but as a rule people planning to go into teaching rank academically near the bottom of the college population.

So the fact that I still thought at age 11 that teachers were infallible shows what a job the system must have done on my brain.

One of the least excusable reasons adults lie is to maintain power. Sometimes it's truly sinister, like a molester telling victims they'll get in trouble if they tell; others seem more innocent.

Most adults conceal their flaws from children. A father who has an affair conceals it partly because it would worry them, partly because it would introduce sex, and partly—more than he'd admit—because he doesn't want to tarnish himself in their eyes.

To learn what lies kids are told, read any book teaching them about "issues." Peter Mayle's Why Are We Getting a Divorce? says you shouldn't blame one parent, because divorce is never only one person's fault. Really? When a man runs off with his secretary, is it always partly his wife's fault? But maybe respect matters more to kids than truth.

Because adults conceal their flaws while insisting on high standards, many kids feel they fall hopelessly short—horribly evil for a swearword while the adults around them do much worse.

This happens intellectually too. The more confident people are, the more willing to say "I don't know." I rarely heard a teacher say it till college—so surprising I still remember it.

The first hint teachers weren't omniscient came in sixth grade, when my father dismissed one as just an elementary school teacher. Just a teacher? The sad fact is US public school teachers don't generally understand their subjects well; people going into teaching rank near the bottom academically. That I still thought at 11 that they were infallible shows what a job the system did on my brain.

One of the least excusable reasons adults lie is to maintain power. They conceal their own flaws while holding kids to high standards, so kids feel they fall hopelessly short—and the same dynamic made me think, until college, that teachers were infallible.

What kids get taught in school is a complex mix of lies.

The most excusable are those told to simplify ideas to make them easy to learn.

The problem is, a lot of propaganda gets slipped into the curriculum in the name of simplification.

Public school textbooks represent a compromise between what various powerful groups want kids to be told.

The lies are rarely overt.

Usually they consist either of omissions or of over-emphasizing certain topics at the expense of others.

The view of history we got in elementary school was a crude hagiography, with at least one representative of each powerful group.

The famous scientists I remember were Einstein, Marie Curie, and George Washington Carver.

Einstein was a big deal because his work led to the atom bomb.

Marie Curie was involved with X-rays.

But I was mystified about Carver.

He seemed to have done stuff with peanuts.

It's obvious now that he was on the list because he was black (and for that matter that Marie Curie was on it because she was a woman), but as a kid I was confused for years about him.

I wonder if it wouldn't have been better just to tell us the truth: that there weren't any famous black scientists.

Ranking George Washington Carver with Einstein misled us not only about science, but about the obstacles blacks faced in his time.

As subjects got softer, the lies got more frequent.

By the time you got to politics and recent history, what we were taught was pretty much pure propaganda.

For example, we were taught to regard political leaders as saints—especially the recently martyred Kennedy and King.

It was astonishing to learn later that they'd both been serial womanizers, and that Kennedy was a speed freak to boot. (By the time King's plagiarism emerged, I'd lost the ability to be surprised by the misdeeds of famous people.)

I doubt you could teach kids recent history without teaching them lies, because practically everyone who has anything to say about it has some kind of spin to put on it.

Much recent history consists of spin.

It would probably be better just to teach them metafacts like that.

Probably the biggest lie told in schools, though, is that the way to succeed is through following "the rules."

In fact most such rules are just hacks to manage large groups efficiently.

What kids get taught in school is a complex mix of lies. The most excusable simplify ideas, but a lot of propaganda gets slipped in under that name. Textbooks are a compromise between what powerful groups want kids told—rarely overt lies, usually omissions. The history we got was a crude hagiography, with at least one representative of each powerful group.

The famous scientists I remember were Einstein, Marie Curie, and George Washington Carver, and I was mystified about Carver—he seemed to have done stuff with peanuts. It's obvious now he was on the list because he was black, and Curie because she was a woman; ranking Carver with Einstein misled us about the obstacles blacks faced.

As subjects got softer the lies got more frequent. By recent history it was pure propaganda: we were taught to regard leaders as saints, especially the martyred Kennedy and King—astonishing to learn both had been serial womanizers.

You probably can't teach recent history without lies, because everyone with anything to say has some spin—much recent history consists of spin. The biggest lie told in schools, though, is that the way to succeed is by following "the rules," when in fact most rules are just hacks to manage large groups efficiently.

School teaches a complex mix of lies—the excusable ones simplify, but propaganda slips in. History was crude hagiography with a representative of each powerful group; as subjects got softer the lies got worse, until recent history was pure propaganda. The biggest lie: that success comes from following the rules.

Of all the reasons we lie to kids, the most powerful is probably the same mundane reason they lie to us.

Often when we lie to people it's not part of any conscious strategy, but because they'd react violently to the truth.

Kids, almost by definition, lack self-control.

They react violently to things—and so they get lied to a lot. [9]

A few Thanksgivings ago, a friend of mine found himself in a situation that perfectly illustrates the complex motives we have when we lie to kids.

As the roast turkey appeared on the table, his alarmingly perceptive 5 year old son suddenly asked if the turkey had wanted to die.

Foreseeing disaster, my friend and his wife rapidly improvised: yes, the turkey had wanted to die, and in fact had lived its whole life with the aim of being their Thanksgiving dinner.

And that (phew) was the end of that.

Whenever we lie to kids to protect them, we're usually also lying to keep the peace.

One consequence of this sort of calming lie is that we grow up thinking horrible things are normal.

It's hard for us to feel a sense of urgency as adults over something we've literally been trained not to worry about.

When I was about 10 I saw a documentary on pollution that put me into a panic.

It seemed the planet was being irretrievably ruined.

I went to my mother afterward to ask if this was so.

I don't remember what she said, but she made me feel better, so I stopped worrying about it.

That was probably the best way to handle a frightened 10 year old.

But we should understand the price.

This sort of lie is one of the main reasons bad things persist: we're all trained to ignore them.

Of all the reasons we lie to kids, the most powerful is the same mundane reason they lie to us: people would react violently to the truth, and kids, almost by definition, lack self-control.

A few Thanksgivings ago, as the roast turkey appeared, a friend's alarmingly perceptive 5 year old asked if the turkey had wanted to die. Foreseeing disaster, he and his wife improvised: yes, it had wanted to die, and had lived its whole life aiming to be their Thanksgiving dinner.

Whenever we lie to protect kids, we're usually also lying to keep the peace. One consequence is that we grow up thinking horrible things are normal.

At about 10 a documentary on pollution put me into a panic, but my mother made me feel better, so I stopped worrying—probably the best way to handle a frightened 10 year old. But we should understand the price: this sort of lie is one of the main reasons bad things persist, because we're all trained to ignore them.

The most powerful reason we lie to kids is the same reason they lie to us: they'd react violently to the truth. The Thanksgiving turkey that "wanted to die" is the perfect case. The price of these calming lies is that we grow up thinking horrible things are normal.

A sprinter in a race almost immediately enters a state called "oxygen debt."

His body switches to an emergency source of energy that's faster than regular aerobic respiration.

But this process builds up waste products that ultimately require extra oxygen to break down, so at the end of the race he has to stop and pant for a while to recover.

We arrive at adulthood with a kind of truth debt.

We were told a lot of lies to get us (and our parents) through our childhood.

Some may have been necessary.

Some probably weren't.

But we all arrive at adulthood with heads full of lies.

There's never a point where the adults sit you down and explain all the lies they told you.

They've forgotten most of them.

So if you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to have to do it yourself.

Few do.

Most people go through life with bits of packing material adhering to their minds and never know it.

You probably never can completely undo the effects of lies you were told as a kid, but it's worth trying.

I've found that whenever I've been able to undo a lie I was told, a lot of other things fell into place.

Fortunately, once you arrive at adulthood you get a valuable new resource you can use to figure out what lies you were told.

You're now one of the liars.

You get to watch behind the scenes as adults spin the world for the next generation of kids.

The first step in clearing your head is to realize how far you are from a neutral observer.

When I left high school I was, I thought, a complete skeptic.

I'd realized high school was crap.

I thought I was ready to question everything I knew.

But among the many other things I was ignorant of was how much debris there already was in my head.

It's not enough to consider your mind a blank slate.

You have to consciously erase it.

A sprinter enters "oxygen debt," burning a faster emergency fuel that builds up waste he must pant to clear. We arrive at adulthood with a similar truth debt: lies told to get us—and our parents—through childhood, leaving us with heads full of lies.

No one ever sits you down and explains all the lies; they've forgotten most. So you'll have to clear them out yourself, and few do. Most people go through life with bits of packing material adhering to their minds and never know it.

You probably never can completely undo the effects, but it's worth trying—whenever I've undone one, a lot of other things fell into place. Fortunately, adulthood gives you a new resource: you're now one of the liars, watching behind the scenes as adults spin the world for the next generation.

The first step is realizing how far you are from a neutral observer. Leaving high school I thought I was a complete skeptic, but I was ignorant of how much debris was already in my head. It's not enough to consider your mind a blank slate. You have to consciously erase it.

We arrive at adulthood with a kind of truth debt—heads full of lies no one ever sits us down to undo. Clearing them out is worth it, and adulthood gives you a new resource: you're now one of the liars, watching from behind the scenes.

[1] One reason I stuck with such a brutally simple word is that the lies we tell kids are probably not quite as harmless as we think. If you look at what adults told children in the past, it's shocking how much they lied to them. Like us, they did it with the best intentions. So if we think we're as open as one could reasonably be with children, we're probably fooling ourselves. Odds are people in 100 years will be as shocked at some of the lies we tell as we are at some of the lies people told 100 years ago.

I can't predict which these will be, and I don't want to write an essay that will seem dumb in 100 years.

So instead of using special euphemisms for lies that seem excusable according to present fashions, I'm just going to call all our lies lies.

(I have omitted one type: lies told to play games with kids' credulity.

These range from "make-believe," which is not really a lie because it's told with a wink, to the frightening lies told by older siblings.

There's not much to say about these: I wouldn't want the first type to go away, and wouldn't expect the second type to.)

[2] Calaprice, Alice (ed.), The Quotable Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1996.

[3] If you ask parents why kids shouldn't swear, the less educated ones usually reply with some question-begging answer like "it's inappropriate," while the more educated ones come up with elaborate rationalizations. In fact the less educated parents seem closer to the truth.

[4] As a friend with small children pointed out, it's easy for small children to consider themselves immortal, because time seems to pass so slowly for them. To a 3 year old, a day feels like a month might to an adult. So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us.

[5] I realize I'm going to get endless grief for classifying religion as a type of lie. Usually people skirt that issue with some equivocation implying that lies believed for a sufficiently long time by sufficiently large numbers of people are immune to the usual standards for truth. But because I can't predict which lies future generations will consider inexcusable, I can't safely omit any type we tell. Yes, it seems unlikely that religion will be out of fashion in 100 years, but no more unlikely than it would have seemed to someone in 1880 that schoolchildren in 1980 would be taught that masturbation was perfectly normal and not to feel guilty about it.

[6] Unfortunately the payload can consist of bad customs as well as good ones. For example, there are certain qualities that some groups in America consider "acting white." In fact most of them could as accurately be called "acting Japanese." There's nothing specifically white about such customs. They're common to all cultures with long traditions of living in cities. So it is probably a losing bet for a group to consider behaving the opposite way as part of its identity.

[7] In this context, "issues" basically means "things we're going to lie to them about." That's why there's a special name for these topics.

[8] Mayle, Peter, Why Are We Getting a Divorce?, Harmony, 1988.

[9] The ironic thing is, this is also the main reason kids lie to adults. If you freak out when people tell you alarming things, they won't tell you them. Teenagers don't tell their parents what happened that night they were supposed to be staying at a friend's house for the same reason parents don't tell 5 year olds the truth about the Thanksgiving turkey. They'd freak if they knew.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Marc Andreessen, Trevor Blackwell, Patrick Collison, Jessica Livingston, Jackie McDonough, Robert Morris, and David Sloo for reading drafts of this.

And since there are some controversial ideas here, I should add that none of them agreed with everything in it.

[1] The lies we tell kids probably aren't as harmless as we think. Past adults lied shockingly much, with the best intentions; people in 100 years will likely be as shocked at ours. I can't predict which, so I'll just call all our lies lies.

[3] Asked why kids shouldn't swear, less educated parents say "it's inappropriate" while educated ones rationalize—and the less educated seem closer to the truth. [4] Small children easily think themselves immortal, because time passes so slowly: to a 3 year old, 80 years sounds like 2400 would to us.

[5] I'll get grief for classifying religion as a lie, but since I can't predict which lies future generations will find inexcusable, I can't omit any. Religion seems unlikely to fade—but no more so than it would have seemed in 1880 that 1980s schoolchildren would be taught masturbation is normal. [7] "Issues" basically means "things we're going to lie to them about."

[9] Ironically, this is also why kids lie to adults: if you freak out when told alarming things, people stop telling you—the same reason parents don't tell 5 year olds the truth about the turkey. Thanks to those who read drafts—and since there are controversial ideas here, none agreed with everything in it.

Notes: the lies we tell may be no more harmless than past ones, so I'll just call all lies lies; the swearing wrinkle, the immortality of small children, religion as a kind of lie, payloads of bad customs, and why kids lie back.