The truth is something that burns. It burns off dead wood. And
The truth is something that burns. It burns off dead wood. And people don't like having the dead wood burnt off, often because they're 95 percent dead wood.
Hear the fierce words of Jordan Peterson, who declared: “The truth is something that burns. It burns off dead wood. And people don't like having the dead wood burnt off, often because they're 95 percent dead wood.” This is not the gentle speech of comfort, but the language of fire, meant to awaken the slumbering soul. For Peterson likens truth to flame—purifying, consuming, relentless. It does not merely illuminate; it scorches away what is false, useless, and corrupt within us. And herein lies the pain: men cling to their illusions, their pride, their habits, their excuses, as though these were treasures, when in truth they are nothing but dead wood waiting for the torch.
The ancients spoke often of fire as a force of purification. Gold is tested in flame; only by burning away the dross does the precious metal shine. So too with the soul. The truth is the furnace that reveals what in us is real and what is false. But the greater part of man is reluctant to face the fire. Why? Because so much of what we carry is dead wood—outdated beliefs, self-deceptions, fears, and sins. To let truth touch us is to let these things be consumed. Yet most people resist, for they have become their illusions. To burn them feels like death, though it is in fact the beginning of life.
Consider the story of Martin Luther, who stood before the powers of the Church and Empire. He spoke the truth as he saw it in the Scriptures, and that truth was a fire. It burned through centuries of corruption, consuming the “dead wood” of indulgences and hypocrisy. But men hated this fire, for it threatened their power and comfort. They branded him a heretic, exiled him, sought to silence him. Yet the flame spread, purifying faith for generations. Luther’s story shows us both the pain and the power of truth’s fire: it destroys the dead wood, but it also brings renewal.
So too in the personal life of every man and woman. Think of the one who finally admits an addiction, or confesses betrayal, or dares to confront the emptiness of wasted years. In that moment, truth burns away the lies that allowed life to stagnate. It is agony, for the flame consumes much of what the person thought they were. Yet once the ashes settle, what remains is stronger, truer, more alive. The dead wood is gone, and life begins again. Without fire, there is only rot. With fire, there is pain—but also rebirth.
Peterson’s exaggeration—“95 percent dead wood”—is a blow meant to humble us. He warns that the greater part of our being is entangled with falsity. We live as prisoners of habit, as servants of comfort, as lovers of illusions. Rarely do we allow truth to blaze fully within us, because we fear how much it will take away. But he teaches that it is better to lose what is false than to cling to it and die with it. To live well is to let truth’s fire burn regularly, so that little by little, the dead wood is consumed before it devours us.
The lesson for us is both severe and liberating: do not fear the burning of truth. Instead, welcome it. When you feel the sting of criticism, the shame of failure, the agony of honest reflection, know that the fire is working. It is consuming what should not remain. Do not quench it, but endure it, for it is shaping you into something stronger, purer, and more alive. The fire may leave scars, but it also leaves freedom.
Therefore, my child, seek the flame of truth daily. Let it burn away your excuses, your lies, your dead habits, your false attachments. Do not cling to what is already dead. For though the fire is painful, it is the only path to renewal. Remember always Peterson’s words: truth burns, and people fear it because they are made of dead wood. But if you have the courage to endure the fire, you will find beneath the ashes a soul reborn, living not in shadow, but in light.
HHVi thi hong hai
Peterson’s quote makes me think about how often people cling to outdated or unhealthy beliefs because it’s easier than facing the truth. The ‘dead wood’ could symbolize our insecurities, habits, or even past traumas that we don't want to let go of. Do you think it’s possible to remove these layers without causing too much damage to our core self? How do we differentiate between the ‘dead wood’ that should be burned away and the parts of us that are essential for our identity?
TDLuong thanh dat
I can see how the truth, like a fire, can be both destructive and cleansing. It burns away the unnecessary, but it also exposes the rawness beneath. But do you think that people might hide behind their 'dead wood' because it gives them a sense of identity or protection? If we are all ‘95 percent dead wood,’ how do we begin to burn off those layers without losing who we are entirely?
TPTrang Pham
Peterson’s metaphor about the truth burning off dead wood is powerful. It seems to imply that our false beliefs and excuses are like dead wood that weighs us down. But when we face the truth, it can feel like we’re losing parts of ourselves. Do you think people resist the truth because they don’t want to change, or because the change feels too difficult to endure? How do you reconcile personal growth with the discomfort of truth?
TLtran le
This quote really struck me because it challenges the way we view truth. It suggests that truth can be uncomfortable, even painful, as it forces us to confront parts of ourselves that we’d rather ignore. I wonder, do you think people avoid the truth because it reveals the flaws they don’t want to face? Or is it more about the fear of losing their sense of comfort and security in the process?