He convinces the hearers to cry when he cries, laugh when he laughs, and mourn when he dies. If an actor can do this, he is a terrific liar, and when that curtain rises again he can see the faces of those he has tricked and say with pride he deceived them, and the audience will stand and applaud him for a lie well spoken. Then they will move into the aisle, still mesmerized, telling their companions what a wonderful job he did. When his lie is through, everyone is pleased and he gets to go home.
His lie ends at the stage. No one is hurt, and everyone gets to go home satisfied. No harm has been done, no crime committed. The cloth woven from an actor’s lie and the web spun from a liar’s lie can look very similar when viewed from a distance, but an actor has no ill intent when he begins the first thread. A liar’s lie is begun with a thread spun from spider’s silk dipped in tar. As he weaves, his lie sticks to his fingers and his arms, quickly wrapping itself around his body.
The only way for a liar to keep from suffocating is to keep weaving. He weaves not only himself, but others into the cloth of his lie as well, creating a mess that he dares not absterge. He continues to lie, but he cannot lie forever. Eventually someone discovers him, wrapped in a cocoon of deceit, protecting himself from those he believes to be a threat, and when the threads are cut away he is condemned to death by those he has suffocated in his cloth. When a liar’s lie is done, no one is happy.
Everyone feels betrayed, and the condemned is left to clean up the mess he created. Many kinds of lies can be spun from the simplest threads. An actor uses his lies to create a shining garment, a beautiful creation that is to be admired and talked about long after the lie is complete. With the same lie, a liar will create a brittle, contemptuous cocoon of trapped souls and falsehoods, for which he must be condemned. An actor is the best of liars, but a liar is the worst of actors.