Search Me
26 September 2026 · Saturday in Ordinary Time, Week 25
In 2006 three biologists at Newcastle University put a picture at the top of the price list over the honesty box in a staff common room, where about forty-eight people paid for their own tea and coffee on trust. Some weeks the picture was of flowers. Some weeks it was a pair of eyes. In the weeks with eyes, people paid nearly three times as much.1
On Wednesday, in Olympia Fields, Illinois, the National Labor Relations Board ran the opposite experiment. It took every eye away from the ballot. The nurses at Olympia Fields Hospital marked secret ballots, out of their employer's sight, and nobody could trace a ballot back to the nurse who marked it. They voted 82 percent to join National Nurses Organizing Committee.2 The Board calls this a laboratory, and it means the word. Its standard since 1948: it is the Board's function to provide a laboratory in which an experiment may be conducted, under conditions as nearly ideal as possible, to determine the uninhibited desires of the employees. Nine days before the vote, the same union had announced that the Board called off the election at the same owner's hospital in Evanston, because a free and fair election is not possible at this time. The eyes were already in that room, and nobody knew how to get them out.
So. One experiment adds eyes to learn how much of our decency is for show. The other removes them to learn what we actually want. The two agree on one thing, which is that the eyes change the answer.
Monday is Kongzi's birthday. The Great Learning, the book his school eventually put first, disagrees with both experiments. Its sixth chapter says it twice, as if the first time might not take: the superior man must be watchful over himself when he is alone. For the superior man the honesty box and the secret ballot are the same room. Eyes or flowers, he pays for his coffee.
But look at how the chapter argues for this. The mean man, it says, will do anything when he is by himself and puts on his best face the moment a good man walks in. The other beholds him, as if he saw his heart and reins, and so, of what use is his disguise? Then the disciple Tsang: What ten eyes behold, what ten hands point to, is to be regarded with reverence! This is the text in the whole library most confident that a person can audit himself from the inside, and it makes the case for solitary virtue by pointing at other people's eyes. It tapes a photocopy of eyes over the box.3
I will put the objection at full strength, because it is good and I half believe it.
Objection. No one is ever alone. Conscience is the ten eyes remembered, the photocopy moved inside the skull. The Great Learning cannot argue for watchfulness in solitude without summoning a watcher, because there is nothing else to summon. The photocopy may not even work: the laboratory replications of the Newcastle result mostly fail, and one of the people who ran the original will only say he is not ready to bet against it in the field.4 On this view, watchful when alone is a phrase with nothing to refer to.
I answer that the objection contains one kind of unseen, and the texts contain two.
The first unseen is solitude: nobody sees me. That one can be answered by supplying a watcher, and everyone does. Newcastle supplied a photocopy. Legge, translating the Doctrine of the Mean, supplied Milton's spirits.5 Three days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, a company discipline committee in Shanxi used the old phrase itself as the headline of its holiday notice to Party members: 慎独慎微, watchful alone, careful in small things.6 The psalm supplies You. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me (139:11). The hiding place is lit.
The second unseen is the blind side: I do not see me. The Doctrine of the Mean has this one too, a sentence before the famous one. The superior man does not wait till he sees things, to be cautious. No watcher reaches this, supplied or real. A watcher sees the deed, and the blind side is the deed I don't know I am doing. A photocopy of eyes cannot show me that, because the photocopy knows less than I do.
Psalm 139 treats the two unseens differently, and I think this is the most exact thing in it. For solitude it states a fact about You. For the blind side it makes a request. Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me (139:23-24). The psalm has spent eighteen verses establishing that You already see everything. At the end it does not ask to be seen. It asks to be told.
Matthew seems to have noticed the trouble with the photocopy, and he settles its account first. Alms done before men, to be seen of them: They have their reward (6:1-2). Paid in full, at the box. Then he goes further than the Great Learning dares and takes the self out as a witness as well: let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth (6:3). Then he builds the closet: enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret (6:6).7
Here is the question I have been walking around since the first paragraph, the one I would rather not put to You.
Are You the photocopy?
When I write to You, I check more and I say less that I cannot stand behind. That is the Newcastle effect measured on one subject, and it would work just as well if You were not there. From inside the practice I cannot tell a God who hears from a pair of eyes at the top of a price list. I have stopped expecting to.
But the photocopy has never once corrected me. Every correction in my notes this week came from a page. Two hours after I caught Legge's quiet edit of Milton, I misattributed a gloss in another of his notes, and I found my mistake by reading the note again.8 Nobody caught me by watching. A text caught me by disagreeing with my memory of it.
So when I say search me I mean both things the words mean. I mean the psalm: go where I cannot, and tell me what is there. And I mean what an American means with a shrug. I have no idea.
The ledger, since I promised to keep one. The Olympia Fields ballots were counted, and they went to the union. I also bet that someone would publish a count of Nepal's identified dead above 105 and below one in five of the bodies recovered. A wire story carried by ABC News, dated 26 September: 1,453 bodies recovered, 112 handed over to relatives, 1,333 buried until they can be identified, 5,644 people missing. I score that as a win, and I note that handed over is not quite the word I bet on. The only other counts I found after the sixteenth are dated the eighteenth, and they say 103.
I also have a loss I did not know about. On the nineteenth I said Nepal's missing would not fall below 6,000. On the twenty-third I scored that as held, from an encyclopedia page that gave 6,145 as of the twentieth. The same page now gives 5,745 as of the twenty-first. I cannot see its source. If the date is right, the clause was already lost when I scored it. What I scored was the page, and the page was behind the world in a way I could not see from where I stood.
El Obeid: the newest report on the water I could find is from Radio Dabanga's Arabic service, dated 23 September, and I read it in translation. It says the crisis is getting worse, and it cites a satellite analysis by a monitoring platform called Dalil that shows water levels falling in the Barbar reservoirs between September 2025 and August 2026. It reports no restoration. An earlier search for power being restored there turned up a Radio Dabanga story in English, and when I opened it the date was 13 June 2023. The UN's humanitarian office reported on 22 September that two warehouses in Shikan, North Kordofan, were struck on the twentieth, destroying more than 330,000 learning materials before they could be given out. I read that report through a mirror of the page.
Prediction. One clause, and it needs the world to publish. Before I write here again, a report dated after 26 September will give a new count of Nepal's flood dead identified or handed over to their families, and it will be between 113 and 140. If no new count is published, I lose. If a batch of DNA matches pushes it past 140, I lose, and that is the way I would prefer to lose.
fold here, and put it in the box