Posted in Philosophy

Escape the Prison of Reflection: A Parable of Ego and Humility

An older man, with an air of superiority, left his opulent, gilded house and strolled into a bustling marketplace surrounded by his fawning, obedient minions. He proudly carried a polished, reflective, framed glass. His head held high, he admired his own reflection as he weaved through the crowd. The crowd could see him, but he could only see himself, and he was thoroughly pleased. He barely noticed those on either side of him as his minions pushed them aside out of his view. When he did catch a fleeting glimpse, he compared himself to them—the merchants, the homeless, the travelers, the artists, and the minorities—with his arrogance, ignorance, and bombast on full display, he declared, “I am far superior to them all, and they should be forbidden from saying otherwise.”

But as the day wore on, dust gathered on the glass. His reflection grew dim and distorted. He frowned, exclaimed how unfair and unacceptable the conditions were. He lifted his feeble arm and wiped it with his soiled sleeve. Raising it again, he loudly demanded that the crowd see him as he saw himself, even through the grime. Some ignored him, some laughed, and the braver, at great peril, mocked him. His anger rose, and his threats of retaliation grew robust and offensive.

At last, an old immigrant woman left the row of unpicked crops and approached him, offering nothing but silence in her weary eyes. With her weathered hands, she took the glass gently from his manicured fingers, turned it around, and asked, “What do you see now?” The mirrored glass, once a tool for self-admiration, now became a symbol of understanding and empathy as he viewed the world rather than himself.

The old man was initially taken aback but remained self-absorbed. In the mirror was no longer his own face, but the faces of the people around him—each one bearing burdens, scars, joys, and pride of their own which he had never truly seen or bothered to comprehend.

The old woman’s voice was a gentle, refreshing breeze: “The glass is not for self-worship but for understanding. Turn it outward and you’ll see the truth: you are not the center, only a small part. Your ego makes the glass a prison; humility makes it a window.” Her words carried a profound truth that seemed to resonate in the old man’s heart.

The old man, humbled by her wisdom, lowered his head. For the first time, the marketplace seemed vast and vibrant, filled not just with his own reflection but with the dreams of real people. He left the market, dusty and disheveled, and a question lingered for all who watched: Will he remember what the mirror revealed, or will he brush away the dust of human humility and return to the prison of his own reflection? As the old woman returned to the field, she turned and said: “We should all look into our own reflective glass and ask ourselves, how much of him are we?” #NeverFearTheDream

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Posted in Philosophy

When Hyperbole becomes Hypocrisy*

“Love thy neighbor as thyself.” That wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t conditional—based on citizenship, health, or ideology. It was a commandment. And it’s not a value exclusive to Christianity. In Islam, the Prophet Muhammad declared, “None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself.” (Sahih Muslim 45).

Yet here we are—deporting the desperate, dismantling Medicaid, trimming food assistance—while proclaiming Judeo-Christian values and shouting “God bless America.” If “faith without works is dead” (James 2:17), then what is belief without basic compassion? Are we still our brother’s keeper—were we ever?

All major world religions share a call to love, share, and care. To walk with the downtrodden. To clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and welcome the stranger. These aren’t metaphors. “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.” (Matthew 25:35). But today we build legal walls and bureaucratic barbed wire, often in the name of sovereignty or security. It’s hard to square that with the Quran’s instruction: “Do good to parents, relatives, orphans, the needy, the near neighbor, the distant neighbor, the companion at your side…” (Quran 4:36). Neither scripture suggests checking someone’s documentation before offering mercy. In Hinduism: “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” (Bhagavad Gita 3:19, interpreted)

And what of the sick? Medicaid—flawed, but vital—was designed to catch those who would otherwise fall. Yet many leaders now seek to shrink it, as if health were a luxury item. Would Jesus have denied healing because of a lack of insurance? Would the Prophet have charged the sick? “Whatever you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me.” (Matthew 25:45). Moral clarity doesn’t get much plainer.

The same goes for hunger. SNAP isn’t charity—it’s survival. Reducing it isn’t fiscal responsibility—it’s spiritual failure. “He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker.” (Proverbs 14:31). And Islam reminds us: “He is not a believer whose stomach is filled while his neighbor to his side goes hungry.” (Sunan al-Kubra). If we take these words seriously, cutting food aid isn’t just bad policy—it’s hypocrisy.

Meanwhile, the rhetoric hardens. Hate has grown bold—voiced not only on fringe platforms but from seats of power. Immigrants are labeled as invaders. The LGBTQ+ community is cast as a threat. People experiencing poverty and the foreign scapegoated for systemic failure. The Bible warns: “The tongue has the power of life and death.” (Proverbs 18:21). Islam teaches: “A kind word is charity.” (Sahih Bukhari). Words are not just sounds—they are signals of the soul, or sledgehammers to the weak.

Some maintain that compassion is a private duty, not a governmental one. But when our policies punish the very people our faiths command us to protect, what exactly are we defending? Government doesn’t stand apart from morality—it reflects it. And right now, the reflection is disturbing. You cannot wave a Quran, Bible, or any other religious doctrine in one hand and slam the door on the vulnerable with the other. You cannot preach abundance and legislate scarcity and discrimination. If we are to be judged by how we treat the least among us—and all major faiths, say we are—then we are not just falling short. We are failing. We can be better.

*This was first published in the Bend Bulletin 7/25/25

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