No man ever believes that the Bible means what it says: He is

"No man ever believes that the Bible means what it says: He is always convinced that it says what he means." Thus declared George Bernard Shaw, the fiery dramatist and philosopher, whose words often pierced through the illusions men weave around truth. In this bold utterance, Shaw reveals not only a paradox of faith but a mirror of human nature itself—that the heart of man seldom reads sacred words to discover divine wisdom, but rather to confirm his own desires. When he opens the Bible, he does not seek revelation; he seeks justification. And so, Shaw’s words strike at the root of our self-deception: that we mold even the voice of heaven to echo our own reasoning, and mistake our reflections for divine light.

In the days of old, the prophets warned of this blindness—the tendency of man to hear only what pleases him and to see only what serves him. When the ancient Israelites were told to repent, they cried instead for comfort. When truth demanded humility, they called for signs and wonders. So it is with every generation: the Scriptures, like a mirror, reveal the soul as it is, yet most men gaze not to see themselves, but to find their own likeness in the Word. Thus, Shaw’s insight is not a jest against faith, but a lament for those who have turned revelation into reflection, and God’s voice into an echo of their own minds.

Consider the story of the Crusades, when men marched beneath the sign of the cross, believing they did the will of God. They read Scripture not as a call to mercy or peace, but as a summons to conquest. The same book that said, “Love your enemies,” they interpreted as permission to destroy them. Their belief, though fierce, was not in the Word itself, but in what they wished the Word to mean. And so rivers of blood were spilled in the name of heaven, not because the Bible commanded it, but because men could not separate the divine will from their own ambitions. Such is the power of self-deception when the sacred is bent to serve the human will.

Shaw’s wisdom exposes a truth that transcends religion. It is the fate of all great writings, all sacred or moral laws, to be misread by those who see themselves as righteous. The man of anger reads the Word and finds fury justified; the man of greed reads and discovers blessing in his wealth; the man of cruelty sees strength where the text calls for compassion. In every age, we twist the truth to serve our ego, rather than let truth twist us into humility. The greatest danger to the soul is not disbelief, but misbelief—believing falsely that one’s own heart is the measure of all that is holy.

Yet Shaw’s words are not meant to destroy faith but to purify it. To read the Bible, or any sacred text, rightly is to stand before it as a student before a master, not as a master before a servant. It is to let the words judge you, rather than you judging the words. True faith begins not in certainty but in surrender—not in proving that the text agrees with you, but in letting it challenge, wound, and remake you. As the ancients said, “The Word is a sword”—not a shield for your pride, but a blade to cut away falsehood from your soul.

The wise man, therefore, approaches holy writing as one who drinks from a deep spring—slowly, reverently, aware that the water may reveal both sweetness and bitterness. He does not bend it to fit his thirst; he lets it quench him as it will. Such humility requires courage, for to truly listen is to risk being changed. But it is only in this openness that truth becomes revelation, not reflection.

And so, my listener, let this teaching be your guide: when you read, when you pray, when you seek wisdom, do not seek to find yourself in the words—seek to lose yourself in them. Do not ask, “How does this verse prove my belief?” but “What truth does this verse demand of me?” Be wary of the comfort that agrees with your desires, and attentive to the challenge that awakens your conscience. For when the Bible or any sacred truth says what you do not wish to hear, it may be then that it speaks most truly.

Thus, the lesson endures across the ages: true wisdom begins where self-interpretation ends. When we cease to make the Word in our image and allow it to remake us in its own, we move from blindness into sight, from pride into understanding, and from illusion into light. Let us, therefore, read not to affirm ourselves, but to be transformed—and in doing so, we shall at last hear not our own echo, but the living voice of truth.