Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie

When Graham Greene, the master of shadows and secrets, declared, “Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector. It encourages a man to be expansive, even reckless, while lie detectors are only a challenge to tell lies successfully,” he was not merely speaking of drink and deception. He was unveiling a profound truth about human nature: that truth is not always extracted by force, but often revealed through freedom, loosened restraint, and the soft breaking of barriers. The bubbling spark of champagne frees the tongue, while the cold grip of the lie detector stiffens it.

For Greene, who wandered through the worlds of spies, politics, and faith, the truth was never a simple thing. A machine, no matter how precise, cannot pierce the soul of a man. It can only measure his trembling, his heartbeat, his sweat—the outer garments of fear. But truth lives deeper, hidden beneath masks of pride and caution. To reach it, one must dissolve these masks, not tighten them. Thus Greene praised champagne, not as a mere indulgence, but as a symbolic key to unlock the guarded heart.

Consider the taverns of history, where kings and generals sat at long tables with goblets in hand. How often has wine loosened the tongue of the powerful, revealing plans, fears, or hidden motives? It is said that Napoleon himself once remarked that in victory one deserves champagne, and in defeat one needs it. In both cases, it was the drink that unveiled the inner state, breaking the rigid armor of command. Where a lie detector would have provoked resistance, champagne brought forth unguarded humanity.

We may also remember the tale of Winston Churchill, who was known for his fondness for champagne and brandy. In moments of loosened mirth, he would reveal thoughts and truths that even the fiercest interrogator could not have extracted from him in cold calculation. It was in the laughter of such moments, in the raising of glasses, that candid truths slipped past the defenses of diplomacy. History has often been shaped not in the glare of interrogation lights, but in the warm glow of shared cups and reckless candor.

Greene’s words also carry a warning: machines that claim to reveal truth may deceive us, for they measure only the body, not the spirit. A lie detector may make a man more cunning, teaching him not honesty but resistance. But the gentle nudge of intoxication makes him forget his defenses, surrendering for a moment to the current of emotion. The one binds the will tighter, the other sets it loose. Thus, truth is better courted by openness than by constraint.

The teaching, O seekers of wisdom, is clear. If you wish to know a man truly, do not always confront him with suspicion and force. Instead, create a space where his spirit can relax, where his guard is lowered, where he feels no need to weave elaborate defenses. Sometimes this is found in champagne, sometimes in friendship, sometimes in shared laughter by the fire. Truth is a guest that arrives when the doors of the heart are opened, not when they are broken down.

So let Greene’s saying become a guide for your own dealings. If you seek truth, cultivate openness rather than fear. Ask not with the coldness of interrogation, but with the warmth of trust. Offer freedom, not constraint. In your conversations, let your presence be like champagne—inviting, freeing, encouraging candor. For then you shall hear not rehearsed lies, but the music of the unguarded soul.

And thus, remember: “Champagne is better than a lie detector.” It is not the bubbles alone that reveal the truth, but the spirit of release they symbolize. Seek not truth through force, but through creating spaces where masks fall away. In such moments, you will find that the truths of men and women are far richer, deeper, and more human than any machine could ever measure.