If you want to be thought a liar, always tell the truth.

In the quiet and cynical brilliance of the early twentieth century, the essayist and aphorist Logan Pearsall Smith wrote a line that gleams with paradox and eternal truth: “If you want to be thought a liar, always tell the truth.” To the untrained ear, this sounds like contradiction, a jest of wit for its own sake. But to the mind that listens beyond the words, it becomes a meditation on the nature of honesty, perception, and the tragic frailty of human belief. For Smith, a master of irony, understood that truth, when spoken without softness or disguise, can appear so strange, so unbearable, that men would rather call it falsehood than face it.

The origin of this saying arises from Smith’s lifelong fascination with the hypocrisies of polite society. Born into wealth and refinement, he spent his life studying the delicate masks that people wear to live comfortably among one another. He saw that truth — pure, unfiltered truth — was often unwelcome at the tables of civilization. People claim to prize honesty, yet recoil from it the moment it strips away illusion. In his observation, the one who speaks with sincerity, without flattery or guile, is often judged not as virtuous but as dangerous, unsettling, or even deceitful. Thus, his paradox reveals a bitter irony: to tell the truth too plainly is to be distrusted, for the truth offends where lies soothe.

This is an ancient tension, known to every age. The philosopher Diogenes of Sinope, that ragged seeker of authenticity, walked through Athens with a lamp in daylight, declaring that he was searching for an honest man. When he told truths that mocked the powerful and exposed the vain, they called him mad, a fool, even a liar. For his honesty did not comfort; it confronted. So too does Smith’s saying remind us that truth is not judged by its substance, but by the comfort it provides. The human heart prefers pleasing falsehoods to painful certainties, and so the truth-teller becomes the heretic — not because he lies, but because he speaks too clearly.

Consider also the fate of Galileo Galilei, who dared to speak the truth of the heavens — that the Earth, proud and ancient, was not the center of the universe. For this truth, he was branded a deceiver, a corrupter of faith, a liar against the order of God. It was not that his words were false, but that they threatened the fragile harmony of human arrogance. His truth was too bright for his time, and so men shielded their eyes with accusation. In this way, Smith’s irony becomes a prophecy: to speak the truth in a world built upon delusion is to be mistaken for a liar.

There is a tragic nobility in this. For the truth-teller must walk alone, misunderstood by those who live content within their illusions. Yet he must not despair. Every age has its prophets who were scorned in their time and sanctified only after death. Socrates, Christ, Galileo, Spinoza — each bore the weight of disbelief, for their truths disturbed the sleep of the world. To tell the truth, therefore, is to accept exile from comfort, to bear misunderstanding as a mark of courage. The liar seeks applause; the truth-teller endures silence. But in the silence, there is power — the quiet authority of one who stands with reality itself.

And yet, there is humor in Smith’s wit, for he also mocks the human vanity that demands the truth be entertaining, convenient, or flattering. When one speaks plain truth — when one says, “This is how it is,” and not, “This is how you wish it were” — people laugh, or scoff, or turn away. They accuse the honest man of exaggeration, of invention, of trickery. Why? Because truth, when naked, looks strange. It lacks the ornaments of deceit. It does not bow or smile. It is unadorned — and thus, in a world of masks, it appears as a mask itself.

Therefore, O seeker of wisdom, let this teaching rest within you: speak the truth, even if it makes you seem false, for only through steadfast honesty can the world slowly learn to recognize sincerity again. Do not trim your words to fit the fashions of the crowd; do not disguise your convictions to win their praise. Be patient, for time reveals truth as water reveals stone — slowly, inevitably, beautifully. The laughter that greets honesty today will become reverence tomorrow.

And when you are called a liar for speaking plainly, remember the wisdom of Logan Pearsall Smith: that the accusation is not your failure, but the world’s blindness. Truth and falsehood are not judged by words, but by hearts — and the heart that fears truth will always mistake the light for illusion. So stand firm in your sincerity. Speak gently, but boldly. For though truth may make you seem false among men, it makes you free among the gods.