The truth will set you free, but first it will make you

Hear now the stern yet liberating words of James A. Garfield, warrior, teacher, and President of the United States: “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.” This saying is forged in fire, for it acknowledges the twofold nature of truth—that it is both a sword and a balm, both a destroyer and a liberator. Many desire the freedom that truth brings, yet few are willing to endure the misery that comes first, when illusions are torn away and comfortable lies are shattered.

The meaning of this quote is as sharp as the blade of justice: freedom cannot be bought cheaply. One must endure the pain of self-confrontation, the sorrow of admitting error, the humiliation of seeing clearly what was long denied. To face truth is to look upon oneself without disguise, to see life not as we dream it, but as it truly is. This moment wounds the ego, humbles pride, and casts down false hopes. But once endured, it opens the gate to genuine liberty—the kind that no deception can take away.

The origin of Garfield’s words draws from a greater river, flowing from scripture itself. In the Gospel of John it is written: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” Garfield, steeped in both scripture and the bitterness of political and personal struggle, added the missing piece—the recognition that truth is never gentle at first. He had known the misery of war, the corruption of politics, and the hard task of self-examination. From these fires he forged his saying: freedom comes not through denial, but through the purifying pain of truth.

History gives us many witnesses to this teaching. Consider Martin Luther, who stood before the Diet of Worms, forced to admit that the church he had served was shackled by corruption. To proclaim his truth was to endure misery—excommunication, danger, and exile. Yet that very misery gave birth to freedom, not only for his soul, but for nations. First came suffering, then came liberty. This is the eternal pattern: truth wounds before it heals, burns before it cleanses, breaks before it rebuilds.

But why is this so? Because man clings to illusion as to a comforting blanket. He would rather rest in falsehood than be awakened by truth. To be told that one is wrong, weak, deceived, or complicit—this is misery. Yet it is also the beginning of transformation. Just as the physician’s scalpel causes pain before it cures the body, so does truth pierce the soul before it sets it free. Without this first wound, healing cannot begin.

We see this also in the life of Abraham Lincoln. In the early years of the Civil War, he clung to the illusion that the Union could be restored without striking at slavery. But the truth revealed itself with grim persistence: the war could not be won without emancipation. This truth made him miserable, for it meant greater sacrifice, deeper division, and immense risk. Yet once embraced, it led to the higher freedom of a nation reborn. Thus Lincoln, like Garfield after him, bore witness to the misery and liberation of truth.

The lesson, then, is timeless: do not flee from the misery of truth, for it is the path to freedom. When confronted by a hard reality—whether in your soul, your family, or your nation—do not cover it with lies. Endure the pain of seeing clearly, and you will find a deeper peace on the other side. For only those who pass through the fire of misery are purified enough to taste the joy of liberty.

Practical is this path: speak honestly to yourself, even when it hurts. Admit your failings before they destroy you. Face reality, however harsh, before it grows worse. If you are betrayed, do not hide from the pain; if you have erred, confess it; if the world itself is unjust, stand and name it. In this way you honor Garfield’s wisdom: that truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. And when you emerge from misery, you will walk in a freedom stronger than chains, a freedom carved in the very heart of truth.