I read the NY Times but I don't trust all of it.

David Byrne, with the clarity of one who has long gazed at the world through both art and reflection, once said: “I read the NY Times but I don’t trust all of it.” At first, these words may seem like a mere comment on a newspaper, but they are far more profound. They reveal the eternal struggle between knowledge and discernment, between hearing the voices of others and preserving the sovereignty of one’s own judgment. To read is to open oneself to another’s vision of the world, but to trust blindly is to surrender one’s own eyes. Byrne reminds us that wisdom is not found in consuming words, but in weighing them, in testing their truth against experience, conscience, and reason.

The origin of this thought lies in the nature of media and power. The New York Times, like many great institutions, is both a beacon and a mirror. It illuminates the events of the world, yet it is shaped by human hands, subject to the limitations, biases, and ambitions of those who write. Byrne’s confession is not an attack, but a recognition: no matter how venerable the source, it is still imperfect. The ancients would call this the frailty of human speech, where even the wisest oracle may falter, and even the most sacred scribe may err. To read without discernment is to mistake the shadow for the light.

History offers us many examples of this truth. Consider the tale of the Spanish conquest of the New World. The chroniclers who wrote for kings and queens portrayed the conquest as glorious, ordained, and noble. Yet behind their words lay blood, suffering, and the destruction of entire civilizations. Their accounts, though written in fine script, did not hold the whole truth. Only centuries later did voices emerge to challenge the narrative, revealing that what was once presented as heroic was also deeply tragic. Thus Byrne’s wisdom rings true: to read is essential, but to trust blindly is dangerous, for every account is shaped by the perspective of its teller.

Nor is this lesson confined to history. In our own times, information flows endlessly, like a mighty river that can both nourish and drown. To read widely is to drink from that river, but one must learn to distinguish the fresh waters from the poisoned streams. If you drink without care, you may swallow lies disguised as truths, opinions dressed as facts, or propaganda wrapped in eloquence. Byrne’s words serve as a call to vigilance in an age when the written word travels faster than ever before, and where authority is too often mistaken for accuracy.

The ancients would tell us that discernment is the shield of the wise. Just as the warrior does not trust every ally in battle, the seeker of truth must not trust every voice that claims authority. Plato himself warned against the power of sophists, those who could shape opinions with rhetoric, but cared little for truth. Likewise, Byrne’s wariness reminds us to listen, but not surrender; to read, but also to question. This is the balance of wisdom: openness without gullibility, skepticism without despair.

From Byrne’s reflection we may draw a simple but powerful lesson: seek truth, but guard your trust. To do this, read broadly, compare sources, and let no single voice rule your understanding. When you encounter news, ask yourself: who benefits from this telling? What might be omitted? Where lies the motive behind the words? In this way, you transform from a passive consumer of information into an active discerner of truth.

The example of Abraham Lincoln is fitting here. He was known to read newspapers constantly, yet he never let one voice dictate his decisions. He weighed the clamor of the press against his own conscience and the counsel of trusted advisors. This gave him both perspective and independence, allowing him to lead not as a puppet of popular opinion, but as a man anchored in principle. If he had surrendered wholly to the voices around him, his legacy might have been very different.

Therefore, let us act with the same wisdom. Read with curiosity, but trust with caution. Do not close your eyes to the world, but do not hand them over to another. For truth is a flame, fragile and bright, and it must be guarded against the winds of distortion. As Byrne teaches us: to read is vital, but to think is salvation. Let this be your practice—seek knowledge, question deeply, and let discernment be the lantern that guides you through the darkness of half-truths.