MAY 8 — “Where there is no truth, there can be no trust.” — Hannah Arendt
Not long ago, while reading through a batch of student essays, one particular line caused me to pause.
The student wrote, quite confidently, “MRI scans are considered safer than CT scans because they use lower levels of radiation.”
The sentence was well-constructed. The argument flowed logically. At first glance, it seemed entirely acceptable. But something was not quite right.
MRI does not use ionising radiation at all.
I found myself reading the sentence again, not because it was confusing, but because it was so convincing. It was the kind of statement that could easily pass unnoticed, especially to someone without a background in medical imaging. It sounded correct. It felt correct. Yet it was not.
What unsettled me was not the mistake itself. Students make errors, and that is part of learning. What stayed with me was how easily such an error could slip through, and how confidently it was presented.
In a different time, such inaccuracies might have been limited in scope. They would appear in a classroom, be corrected and gradually fade. Today, however, the context is very different.
We live in a world where information is no longer scarce. It is abundant, immediate and often unfiltered. With the rapid advancement of artificial intelligence, the ability to generate text that is coherent, persuasive and seemingly authoritative has become widely accessible. What once required careful study can now be produced within seconds.
In such an environment, the line between what is accurate and what merely appears to be accurate becomes increasingly difficult to discern.
Misinformation rarely presents itself as an obvious falsehood. More often, it comes in forms that resemble truth closely enough to be accepted without question. A familiar term is used slightly out of context. A concept is explained with partial accuracy. A conclusion is drawn with confidence, even when the reasoning is flawed.
Over time, repeated exposure to such content begins to shape how we understand the world. We may not realise it immediately, but our sense of what is credible gradually shifts. Statements that sound right begin to carry more weight than those that are carefully verified.
The challenge is therefore not only that incorrect information exists, but that our ability to recognise it may be quietly weakening.
In fields such as science and medicine, this has important implications. Scientific knowledge is built upon evidence, verification and the willingness to revise conclusions when new data emerges. It is not perfect, but it is disciplined. When this process is replaced by information that is simply persuasive or widely circulated, the distinction between knowledge and opinion becomes blurred.
The consequences extend beyond academic settings. Decisions about health, technology and public policy increasingly depend on how information is interpreted. When that interpretation is shaped by misleading or incomplete content, the impact can be significant.
Yet the response to this challenge does not lie solely in technology or regulation. It begins with a more personal awareness.
As I reflected on that student’s sentence, I realised that the issue was not about a single mistake, but about how easily any of us could accept something that sounds right without pausing to examine it more closely.
In the past, learning often required effort, time and engagement with sources that were relatively limited. Today, information arrives quickly and continuously. The temptation to accept and move on is strong.
Perhaps the more important task now is not to access more information, but to develop the habit of pausing. To pause long enough to ask whether what we are reading is grounded in evidence or merely constructed to appear so.
This is not always easy. It requires attention, humility and, at times, the willingness to admit that we may not know enough to judge immediately.
But such habits are essential if we are to preserve something fundamental.
Truth is not only a matter of correctness. It is the basis upon which trust is built. In relationships, in institutions and in society, trust depends on the belief that what is presented is sincere, reliable and authentic. When that belief is weakened, the consequences are not always immediate, but they are lasting.
As George Orwell once observed, “In a time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”
In today’s context, recognising the truth may be just as important.
That brief moment with a student’s essay has remained with me, not because of the error it contained, but because of what it revealed. It reminded me that the challenge we face is not only external, in the form of misinformation, but also internal, in how we respond to it.
And perhaps that is where our responsibility begins.
In a world where information can be generated endlessly and convincingly, we must learn to look more carefully, to think more deliberately, and to hold on to the discipline of seeking what is true.
For without that discipline, we may not even realise when truth itself is quietly placed under siege.
* Ng Kwan Hoong is an emeritus professor of biomedical imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya. A 2020 Merdeka Award recipient, he is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, listening to classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He may be reached at [email protected]
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
