Speaking truth to power is actually a form of loyalty.

“Speaking truth to power is actually a form of loyalty.” Thus proclaims Richard N. Haass, and though he lives in our time, his words carry the weight of the ancients. For what is loyalty, if not the devotion to the well-being of another, even when that devotion demands courage? And what is truth, if not the sacred fire that keeps a ruler from drifting into the abyss of error? To flatter a leader with lies may seem like allegiance, but it is betrayal in disguise. To speak honestly, even when it wounds, is the highest form of fidelity—for it seeks not the comfort of the moment, but the salvation of the future.

The ancients revered such boldness. In the courts of kings, where whispers often brought ruin, the rare voice that dared to speak the truth was valued above armies of sycophants. The sage knew that power without truth is blind, and blindness in the halls of command leads nations to disaster. Loyalty that bows in silence when falsehood reigns is no loyalty at all—it is treachery wrapped in courtesy. Haass reminds us that the true servant of any cause, any nation, any leader, is the one who dares to pierce illusion with the blade of honesty.

History offers us noble examples. Recall the tale of Winston Churchill, who in the years before the Second World War warned again and again of the growing menace of Nazi Germany. Many in his country dismissed him, preferring the illusions of peace. They saw him as a disturber of comfort, a prophet of gloom. Yet when the storm broke, it was his voice of truth that prepared Britain to endure. Churchill’s loyalty to his nation was not in soothing it with pleasant lies, but in rousing it with painful honesty. By speaking truth to power, he preserved the very life of his people.

Another tale lies in the ancient world. Consider the counsel of the Hebrew prophet Nathan to King David. When David, blinded by desire, committed grievous sin, none dared rebuke him, for he was king. Yet Nathan came before him with a parable, and with courage declared, “Thou art the man.” This was not treason, but the deepest loyalty—to awaken the king’s conscience, to restore him to righteousness. Nathan risked wrath, yet his boldness saved the soul of his sovereign. Thus is Haass’ teaching confirmed: truth spoken to power is loyalty, for it shields the leader from self-destruction.

But where this wisdom is ignored, ruin follows swiftly. In the court of Emperor Nero, flatterers surrounded the throne, each praising his excesses, each feeding his madness. None dared tell him that his cruelty consumed Rome from within. Their silence was not loyalty but treachery, for it allowed folly to blossom into tyranny. And so, fire devoured the city, and Nero’s name was cursed for centuries. The loyalty of lies leads only to downfall.

Therefore, my children, take this lesson into your hearts. If you serve a leader, a master, or even a friend, do not betray them with false comfort. Speak with respect, but speak with honesty. Let your words be tempered with compassion, but let them be firm as stone. For in telling them what they need to hear—not what they wish to hear—you prove your love, your courage, your loyalty. To hide the truth is to abandon them; to reveal it is to stand by their side even in peril.

So let this be your practice: when faced with power, do not be dazzled into silence. Remember that the strongest bond of loyalty is woven not with flattery but with truth. Be the voice that steadies the hand of authority, the light that guides it away from darkness. For in speaking truth to power, you preserve not only the leader but the people, not only the crown but the kingdom. And thus shall you walk the path of wisdom, and be remembered as one who served with courage and with honor.