Of course you can't 'trust' what people tell you on the web

Hear the sharp and timeless words of the humorist and philosopher, Douglas Adams, who declared: “Of course you can’t ‘trust’ what people tell you on the web any more than you can ‘trust’ what people tell you on megaphones, postcards, or in restaurants. Working out the social politics of who you can trust and why is, quite literally, what a very large part of our brain has evolved to do.” Though delivered with wit, this saying carries the weight of ancient truth: the struggle to discern truth from falsehood has always been the task of humankind, long before the birth of machines or the weaving of the digital web.

The web is but a mirror of older worlds. Where once men gathered in markets or shouted in the public square, now they type on glowing screens. Where once gossip traveled on parchment or whispered through taverns, now it spreads through networks. Adams reminds us that the problem is not new, only the tool has changed. A lie shouted from a megaphone and a lie posted on the internet are the same in spirit; both demand the listener to judge, to weigh, and to discern. Thus the age-old labor of humanity remains: to decide whom to believe, and why.

From the dawn of civilization, the question of trust has shaped destinies. Consider the tale of the Trojan Horse. The Greeks left a gift at the gates of Troy, and with it, words of deceit. The Trojans debated—could this be believed? Their failure to discern truth led to the fall of their great city. This story, though ancient, is echoed in Adams’s warning: the tools of deception change, but the burden of judgment never fades. Whether in the marketplace, the banquet hall, or the digital screen, one must always test what is heard.

Adams also speaks of the brain, saying it has evolved to manage this task. Indeed, our ancestors survived not merely by hunting or gathering, but by perceiving whom to follow, whom to fear, and whom to trust with their lives. A careless choice could mean death, a wise judgment could mean survival. The art of discernment is thus not a luxury, but the very skill upon which human society rests. Every alliance, every friendship, every nation’s covenant has been bound by the fragile thread of trust.

Yet this trust must always be questioned, never blind. The wise rulers of history understood this. Julius Caesar, though mighty, was betrayed by those closest to him because he misjudged the loyalty of men like Brutus. His tragedy shows that trust misplaced brings ruin, while trust rightly placed builds empires. Adams’s words echo this truth: trust is not given freely, it is earned through judgment and observation.

O children of tomorrow, learn from this: do not be deceived by the novelty of tools. The web, the postcard, the megaphone—these are but vessels. It is not the medium that makes truth or falsehood, but the speaker. Train your mind, sharpen your discernment, and weigh not only the words spoken but the heart of the one who speaks them. Look to their deeds, their patterns, and the fruits of their actions, for words alone are wind.

Therefore, let Adams’s wisdom guide you. Do not despair that lies exist in your world, for they have existed since men first spoke. Instead, cultivate the eternal skill of discernment. Question, test, observe, and when you find those worthy of trust, hold fast to them. For in a world where voices are many and deception is common, the ability to know whom to believe is not only survival—it is the foundation of wisdom, community, and peace.