Human beings are evil. We are hardwired to curate our self-image, excuse our failures, and cling to the stories that make us feel good about ourselves. The truth is, we are hypocrites—fluctuating between condemning unspeakable horrors, often hidden from public view, and idolizing the very politicians and institutional cowards who cause or permit them.
The same psychological games we play to deceive ourselves work flawlessly when we’re told to choose the “lesser of two evils” during election season.
Listen to yourselves, habibi. You reject Scripture—yet somehow affirm its judgment against you when you call one of your human choices the “lesser of two evils.”
You hypocrite.
Most people will never acknowledge their complicity in the killing fields of Gaza. It’s far more comfortable to live in self-deception than to face the truth about the monsters we really are.
Evil functions under a triple constraint.
First: your reflection, shown in a natural mirror, not of your own making. You want to look away, to forget what you see. So, you rush to the second constraint: the mirror of your fairy tales—the one that says you are the “fairest of them all.” Or worse, the artificial mirrors in your data centers, which regurgitate what everyone wants to hear, calibrated to the desires of monsters.
Between these two lies the third constraint: your neighbor. The neighbor who also sees your reflection, not in the natural mirror of Scripture, but in how you behave when you follow yourself, even though they are as blind as you.
In the end, the natural mirror does not care if you “speak the truth.” It already knows that you, like your virtue-signaling, murderous, failed politicians, are blind, arrogant, and evil.
The mirror has only one objective: to force you to see the truth it reflects about you, and not to let you look away. Can you accept this? Can you sit with it? Or will you, once again, project your truth onto someone else caught in the same triple constraint?
You hypocrite.
You blind fool.
On that day, no amount of pleading will bring you comfort.
This week, I discuss Luke 8:31.
Photo by Kyle Johnson on Unsplash
Show Notes
“They were imploring him not to command them to go away into the abyss.” Lk 8:31.
“For if anyone is a listener of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his natural face in a mirror; (τὸ πρόσωπον τῆς γενέσεως — literally, “the face of birth” or “natural face”) for once he has looked at himself and gone away, he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he was.” (James 1:23–24)παρακαλέω (parakaleō) / נ–ח–ם (nūn–ḥet–mēm) / ن–ح–م (nūn–ḥāʾ–mīm)
Encourage, exhort, and comfort. Feel regret, be sorry, and console yourself. Provide comfort. Saul disobeyed God’s command by sparing King Agag and taking spoils from the battle. God, through Samuel, declares that he regrets [נִחַמְתִּי (niḥamti)] making Saul king:
“I regret [נִחַמְתִּי (niḥamti)] that I have made Saul king, because he has turned back from following me and has not carried out my commands.” And Samuel was furious, and he cried out to the Lord all night. (1 Samuel 15:11)Later in 1 Samuel 15:30, Saul, like Legion, makes a self-serving plea, concerned with his reputation rather than divine obedience.
David’s so-called consolation [נִחַם (niḥam)] in 2 Samuel was not repentance or discernment—it was political sentimentality disguised as pastoral care. It resembled the rhetoric of a liberal American politician who publicly laments starving children in Gaza, yet quietly approves weapons sales, enforces food embargoes, and suppresses dissent.
David had a soft spot for Absalom, even though Absalom murdered his half-brother Amnon in a revenge killing for the rape of their sister Tamar. Instead of submitting to God’s instruction, David inserted himself as judge and jury, led not by divine command but by personal affection and public image. This sentimental indulgence led to Absalom’s exile, his orchestrated return, and eventual rebellion—a direct consequence of David’s failure to uphold justice according to the Lord’s command, rather than his personal “consolation.”
And the heart of King David longed to go out to Absalom; for he was comforted [נִחַם (niḥam)] regarding Amnon, since he was dead. (2 Samuel 13:39)Pharaoh, in the following example, is lexically analogous to Legion in Luke 8:31, who pleads not to be judged, but to seek relief from consequences in lieu of repentance. In Ezekiel, Pharaoh observes other fallen nations, tyrants, and armies defeated, and finds a twisted comfort in their shared destruction:
Pharaoh will see them, and he will be comforted [וְנִחַם (weniḥam)] for all his hordes killed by the sword—Pharaoh and all his army,” declares the Lord God. (Ezekiel 32:31)In this final example from Lamentations, a destroyed Jerusalem calls for God’s wrath to fall upon her enemies. But unlike Pharaoh, who found twisted comfort in the judgment of others (Ezekiel 32:31), this plea arises under the unbearable weight of divine chastisement. As it is written:
“The Lord is righteous; for I have rebelled against his command. Hear now, all you peoples, and see my pain; My virgins and my young men have gone into captivity.” (Lamentations 1:18)The call for vindication is not a boast but a plea, spoken on the lips of the harlot city—Jerusalem—who confesses her guilt and urges the Lord to act. Her cry for the nations to “become like me” is an appeal to divine vengeance, not for destruction’s sake, but to expose their harlotry, undo their rebellion, and make possible their submission to God’s command, which Jerusalem itself foolishly rejected:
People have heard that I groan; there is no one to comfort me [מְנַחֵם (menaḥem)]. All my enemies have heard of my disaster; they are joyful that you have done it. Oh, that you would bring the day which you have proclaimed, so that they will become like me. (Lamentations 1:21)ἐπιτάσσω (epitassō...