You may be right, but you’re not honest

TUESDAY, 10 JUNE 2025

I don’t write much about people’s religious beliefs anymore, but recently a thought occurred about honesty.

A few weeks ago, I heard a story about a man who had quit his job. During a religious gathering, he told everyone present that from then on, he would rely on God for his bread and butter. Shortly after, someone in the congregation stood up and declared that he owned a farm, and that he would leave the management of it to the man who was now unemployed.

“Praise the Lord!” dozens of people exclaimed. God had provided.

An alternative explanation is that it was in the best interest of everyone present that “God would provide.” The man who owned the farm thought: I need someone to manage the farm. If I stand up now and make it known, God will have provided for the man’s needs.

What he might not have thought, but what would still be true: His standing in the faith community would also rise, because he would be seen as an “instrument in God’s hands.”

That’s where honesty comes in.

Suppose a person who identifies as a Christian says, “I see what you mean. Maybe it’s just a case of a group of people wanting certain things to be true, and it’s in their best interest to do things that will give the impression that they are true. I can see how it could be understood that way. Nevertheless, I still choose to believe that God did indeed provide, and that He had worked through the man with the farm.”

If such a person made this statement, the argument would be over. I would have nothing further to add. I would shake the man’s hand, thank him for his honesty, and wish him a good life.

Now suppose such a person who identifies as a Christian takes a different position, insisting that it was indeed God who had provided, and that he refused to see any other possibility.

To this person I would say: “You may be right, but you are not honest.”

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Old, small, powerless, and useless

WEDNESDAY, 19 MARCH 2025

I dreamt last night that I had to stand in for a teacher at a high school. I found myself surrounded by hundreds of teenagers.

After a few minutes, I was scammed out of my cell phone. For some reason, I was also persuaded to take off my shoes. The shoes promptly disappeared.

Next thing I was walking around in my socks asking about my cell phone. I said that I needed to contact my family in South Africa, and how could I do that if I didn’t have my phone.

I was ignored, and every now and then laughed at by groups of teenagers standing around everywhere.

After a confusing hour of wandering around among what now felt like thousands of teenagers, someone helped me find my phone. All the phone numbers and WhatsApp messages and so on had been deleted.

I still couldn’t find my shoes.

Two young ladies who were responsible for the disappearance of my phone tried to explain that their lives were not easy either.

Not only did I have no sympathy for them, but I had a strong desire to wish them an early death. (Note that I did not consciously think these thoughts. Nevertheless, the full thought was that I wanted to wish the teenagers not just an early death, but a painful early death.)

I woke up with a headache, thinking: What a nightmare.

The feeling that pressed even after I had lifted my head from the pillow was that I was old, and small, and powerless, and useless.

(Roll the drums for a Grok-created image of a happy, smiling, bald, middle-aged man.)

______________________

A meaningful snippet of knowledge

TUESDAY, 8 OCTOBER 2024

I frantically started taking notes in 1994. It was as if I sensed a calling to report on my life. For the past thirty years, I have reported on and off, sometimes every day and sometimes just a few paragraphs in one calendar year.

The point is still to say: Here I am. This is how I experience life.

* * *

Thirty years ago, I wanted to make money because I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want people barking orders and expecting me to jump. I wanted to have money so I could travel and study (seriously, I was 23 years old, and I wanted to study).

Twenty years ago, I seriously wanted to improve my income because I wanted to create a better life for myself, and for the young woman I would later marry. I wanted to travel more, and I wanted to visit my family in South Africa more often.

Today I want to improve my income because I want to strengthen my financial security, especially considering that in perhaps two decades I will no longer feel like working, or may no longer be able to do everything I want to do.

Different desires, but the same path that leads to fulfilment. One difference is that I know what twenty and thirty years feel like under the soles of my feet, and I know how they slip through my fingers. And I know that twenty or thirty years from now – if I last that long – I will be officially old. Not necessarily decrepit, but definitely elderly. This meaningful snippet of knowledge was not part of my experience of existence twenty or thirty years ago.

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