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A Saturday Conversation
I have just come back upstairs into my flat after another thoughtful Saturday afternoon conversation with a Jehovah’s Witness, who visits me when he’s in town. What began as a brief exchange some weeks ago has grown into something I genuinely look forward to. A weekly dialogue marked not by hostility or posturing, but by curiosity, conviction, and mutual respect.
I value these encounters deeply. There is something invigorating about being in the presence of someone whose metaphysical framework differs from your own, and yet who is equally willing to reason, to question, to defend, and to listen. We share ideas. We disagree. We challenge one another’s premises and we part not as adversaries, but as fellow travellers, each having sharpened the other’s thought.
Conversations like these remind me that philosophy and faith are not meant to be monologues. They are living disciplines, refined in dialogue. When conducted sincerely, they leave both parties with a deeper sense of what it means to be alive, to live deliberately, and to live well.
Reflections on Luke 14:28-30
It was in that spirit of reflection, after today’s exchange, that I found myself considering Gospel of Luke 14:28-30:
For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost…lest, after he has laid the foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him…
On its surface, the image is simple. A man begins construction without sufficient foresight, only to abandon the project midway. Yet the force of the passage lies not in architecture or public perception, but in commitment itself.
Christ’s point is about discipleship and the discipline of following through. To follow him — or any serious pursuit — is not a sentimental impulse nor a passing enthusiasm. It is an undertaking that demands deliberation, sacrifice, and endurance. The “tower” represents the life one resolves to build. The “cost” signifies the relinquishment of comfort, distractions, or half-hearted effort. The unfinished foundation stands as a warning not to begin a vocation, a pursuit, or a personal commitment without clarity and intentionality.
Here, the emphasis shifts from external ridicule to internal integrity: the measure of one’s own resolve, the alignment between intention and action, and the commitment to finish what one starts for one’s own sake.
The Tower of Commitment
Philosophically, the passage speaks to integrity - the alignment of intention and capacity, aspiration and resolve. We live in an age rich with declarations but poor in endurance. We announce convictions loudly and abandon them quietly. We lay foundations - careers, relationships, identities, ideologies - without first confronting what their completion requires.
The unfinished tower becomes more than a construction failure; it becomes a reminder that our own intentions matter. The cost of a life well-built is measured internally, not by applause or ridicule.
Counting the Cost in Life
What struck me most after today’s conversation is that this principle transcends religion. Whether one is committing to faith, to a vocation, to marriage, to self-mastery or to any serious pursuit, the same law applies: depth requires cost. Conviction requires sacrifice. A meaningful life cannot be assembled casually.
By framing commitment in terms of our own standards, we acknowledge that the most significant evaluation comes from within. The cost is not in avoiding mockery, but in honoring the life we intend to live.
The Dignity of Deliberate Choice
There is something profoundly dignifying in this demand. To be invited to “count the cost” is to be treated as a rational and responsible agent; not by others, but by oneself. It is to recognise that our choices matter, that our commitments shape reality, and that seriousness is a virtue.