This image is a creation of the author's own hand
The Cost of Blind Faith
By: John Kazerooni
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a boy full of energy and love.
He grew up in a warm home, surrounded by a family who held strong beliefs and long-standing traditions. Every night, his grandmother would sit beside him and share stories passed down through generations.
She spoke of a man who lived not for himself but for others—a man who gave love instead of wealth, kindness instead of power, and life so full that people felt blessed simply by his presence. In her stories, he was gentle, noble, generous, and completely selfless. He condemned slavery, adultery, theft, plundering, and all forms of harm. He believed in peace, in free speech, and in the value of the questioning mind. To the boy, he was perfect.
The boy admired him deeply. He shaped his heart and dreams around the image his grandmother painted. As he grew, he wanted to learn more, believing that studying this man’s life would help him become like him.
Years later, the young man began searching for every book about this figure—not just modern accounts, but the oldest texts he could find. He believed the older the book, the closer it would be to the truth. Perhaps he would find even greater lessons than those painted in his grandmother’s stories.
But reading the old text he didn’t get the same picture as recent scholars pictured; in contrary, he was not what he was described.
At first, the shock was small, then overwhelming. He discovered:
The man he admired, said to oppose slavery, owned slaves, freeing only those who accepted his teachings.
The man described as peaceful waged wars, conquered cities, and caused the deaths of thousands.
The man praised for feeding the poor often gave only to those loyal to him, while others were ignored.
The man said to condemn adultery had many women around him, some taken after their husbands died in his battles.
The man believed to oppose theft and looting plundered villages and cities during campaigns.
The man believed in free speech and the questioning mind, but the old accounts revealed that anyone speaking against his doctrine was punishable by death. No one dared question his authority.
And there were many more contradictions—too many to ignore. The young man felt the ground shift beneath his feet. How could the stories of his childhood and the reality in ancient books be so far apart?
This is a story many of us share. Parents or grandparents, without knowing it, often pass on stories mingled with ideology or shaped by tradition. Children absorb them blindly. They grow up worshiping these ideals, even when they may be false, because their minds are not yet trained to question or investigate.
The problem is compounded over centuries. Intellectuals, scholars, storytellers, and leaders reshape history. Sometimes gently, sometimes boldly, they soften harsh events, remove uncomfortable details, add praise, and polish figures into symbols of perfection. Each generation adds another layer, until the truth is almost unrecognizable.
The danger comes when children grow attached to these figures and later discover the truth. Some may reject the man entirely—but others, even knowing the truth, worship him and follow in his dangerous footsteps. They may commit acts harmful to society, believing they are honoring the hero.
Yes, the truth always finds its way back—not just through old books, but through the actions of followers. The way people behave, the harm or good they do, can reveal the real nature of a figure long after legends have softened it. And sometimes, these revelations can shake communities, cities, or even nations if blind devotion goes unchecked.
So, is it better to cover the truth and teach only the good? Or is it wiser to speak openly about a person’s full character, including the flaws, so that children and society can grow with understanding, discernment, and wisdom?
The young man realized that only honesty could prevent future harm. Only by knowing the truth could people act with clarity and fairness. Blind worship, even of a great figure, can lead to destructive choices.
Questions to reflect on:
Why do we hide the truth even when we know it?
How can we educate people to recognize false stories?
Isn’t it better to teach our children the truth rather than keeping them in the dark?
How can a society prevent blind devotion from creating harm?
How do we train minds to see both sides of a story, instead of only the side we want to see?
If actions reveal the truth as much as books, how should we observe and interpret the behavior of those we admire?
How can we raise children to question, understand, and act wisely without losing their respect for good values?
Stories shape children. Children shape the future. Only truth—honest, complete, and examined—can guide a society toward justice, wisdom, and a better world.
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