Telling lies is the easy bit, but telling the truth and

“Telling lies is the easy bit, but telling the truth and pretending you are lying is hard.” So declares Lee Mack, a man whose craft lies in comedy, yet whose words reveal a wisdom as sharp as any philosopher’s. Though born of jest, this saying shines like a lantern into the deeper corridors of the soul. For it reminds us that lies come cheaply, like dust scattered by the wind, but truth carries a weight that cannot be easily borne. And stranger still is the paradox: to speak the truth in a world of doubt often requires the skill of one who must disguise it, as though reality itself were unbelievable.

The ancients too would have understood this saying. To lie is to bend words like reeds in the breeze—it requires little strength, for they yield easily. But to speak truth is to set one’s words as stone upon the ground, immovable and heavy. And sometimes, when truth is spoken, men laugh, mock, or scorn it as though it were a trick. Thus the speaker of truth must sometimes cloak it, soften it, or even deliver it as though it were jest, lest it be rejected outright. This is not weakness, but wisdom—the wisdom of knowing that the truth, though strong, must sometimes wear the mask of a lie to be heard.

Consider the ancient Aesop, whose fables carried truths too sharp to be spoken directly in his time. He wrapped them in the garb of animals who spoke and acted like men. To some, these tales were but children’s amusements. Yet beneath the playful disguises, eternal truths dwelled: that pride leads to downfall, that kindness is greater than strength, that greed consumes itself. Here is Lee Mack’s saying embodied: the truth itself is told, yet disguised, as though it were only a lie or a tale. And by this disguise, men received wisdom they might have otherwise rejected.

History, too, shows us how truth can be rejected unless it wears a cloak. Galileo, when he revealed the heavens in motion, was branded a deceiver. His truth was treated as if it were the lie, while the real falsehood—that the Earth stood fixed and unmoving—was hailed as certainty. To live in such an age required immense courage: to carry truth in the heart, even while others mocked it as deceit. This is the hardship Lee Mack’s words uncover—the difficulty of holding truth in a world that prefers comfortable lies.

Yet let us not mistake this teaching as mere despair. There is a hidden power in it, a heroic challenge. For if lies are easy, and truth is hard, then the path of honor is clear. The easy road leads to weakness, but the harder road builds strength. The man or woman who dares to speak truth, even if it must be disguised, even if it risks rejection, joins the company of prophets, philosophers, poets, and saints. Such a one stands as a guardian of reality itself, a flame in the night.

So take this lesson, children of the future: do not waste your lives in easy lies. They will give you comfort for a moment, but they will betray you in the end. Instead, pursue truth with courage. And if the world laughs, let it laugh; if the truth must be spoken with wit or cloaked in jest, let it be so. But never abandon it. Speak it, live it, embody it. For though it is hard, though it may feel like pretending, the truth endures beyond mockery, beyond doubt, beyond time itself.

Make it your practice, then, to weigh your words. Ask yourself: do they serve truth, or do they serve convenience? Seek cleverness, not to invent lies, but to plant truth where it may grow. Learn from the storytellers, the comedians, the sages—those who turn laughter and parable into vessels of reality. For in doing so, you will not only master the art of speaking truth, but also the nobler art of living it. And in that mastery lies the true strength of the human spirit.