I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate

The words of Pietro Aretino—“I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies”—resound with the fire of integrity and the tenderness of true love. They reveal the paradox of truth: that it wounds in the moment but heals in the end, while lies comfort for a season but corrode forever. Aretino, who lived in the turbulent courts and intrigues of Renaissance Italy, knew well how men adorned themselves with false praise and honeyed lies. Yet in these words, he cuts through the vanity of illusion and proclaims the noblest form of love: the love that dares to speak truth, even at the cost of affection, approval, or peace.

For what is love without truth? It is a counterfeit, a shadow, a hollow shell. To love someone is not to please them always, but to will their good above your own comfort. Thus, the truest love is willing to risk being despised in order to protect, correct, or awaken the beloved. Lies, even when sweet, are poison wrapped in sugar. They lull the soul into complacency, hiding the dangers that lurk ahead. Truth, though bitter at first taste, is medicine—it cleanses, clarifies, and restores. This is the heart of Aretino’s teaching: that real love values the soul’s salvation above the ego’s delight.

History offers powerful examples of this principle. Consider the prophet Nathan who stood before King David after his grievous sins. Nathan could have bowed in flattery to preserve his life and favor, but instead he told the truth: “You are the man.” David, pierced with guilt, repented and was restored. The prophet risked hatred but gave truth, and in that truth lay salvation. This is love in its highest form—not servile adoration through lies, but courageous honesty that redeems.

Another example lies in the life of Abraham Lincoln. His advisors sometimes urged him to soften his words about slavery for the sake of popularity. But Lincoln, loving his nation more than his reputation, declared the hard truth: that the house divided could not stand. Many hated him for it, yet his words preserved the soul of the Union. Like Aretino’s teaching, Lincoln chose the path of truth over false adoration, for real love of country demands honesty, not deception.

In the realm of personal life, we see the same truth in families and friendships. A parent who lies to spare a child’s feelings may gain temporary affection, but only truth, even painful truth, prepares the child for the trials of life. A friend who conceals mistakes or flatters weaknesses does not love deeply, but one who dares to say, “You are wrong, and I cannot praise you for this,” offers a love that protects, even at the cost of comfort. Love without truth is not love at all—it is indulgence, weakness, or deceit.

The lesson is clear: if you would love rightly, let truth be your foundation. Do not deceive those you love to gain their adoration, for that adoration is built on sand and will collapse. Instead, choose the harder path: risk their anger, risk their rejection, but give them the gift of honesty. Truth is the highest form of respect, and honesty the greatest expression of love. Lies enslave; truth liberates, even when it hurts.

Therefore, O seeker, remember Aretino’s wisdom: to love is to tell the truth, even when it costs you. Better to be hated for truth than loved for lies. For love that is built upon truth will endure storms and stand unshaken, while love fed with falsehood will decay in time. In your relationships, in your family, in your friendships, choose always the noble path: speak truth in love, and let your heart be steadfast. For such love, though it may wound, will in the end heal, bind, and bless beyond measure.