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The hilarious patriots now rebuke all who condemn them: “We’re not Far Right. Just right.”

Yes, for we all think we’re right, correct in the conclusions we have drawn about the world around us.

But are we? Sometimes, perhaps. And sometimes not.

Am I right? More often than not, not really. Indeed, in many cases, I discover the opposite is true.

How many times do we disagree with our closest companions about the best course of action at a particular moment — sometimes arguing vigorously for our own approach — only to realise they were mostly right?

Most people, by the time they have reached middle age, have been humbled by life to such an extent that they would not dream of enforcing their conclusions on others.

Why should I compel another to adopt my understanding of the world? What if I am wrong? What if my understanding is completely off? What if my foundational knowledge is partial at best, if not downright wrong?

Even at this juncture, the collective human knowledge of the universe is a drop in the ocean. In the scientific endeavour, we still know little. Most understandings are contingent at best.

In our own lives, we mostly have to act upon best efforts, taking corrective action often as new information emerges.

Why hold course if it turns out the information we were given was spurious at best, if not downright false?

To insist that we are right is all part of the arrogant conceit humans are called to tame. It is of the ego, puffed up with pride.

Perhaps we might be granted some knowledge which helps steer us along the path of life. Wonderful. Grasp hold of it.

But to chant aloud, I am right, I am right? In my experience, God usually humbles those who arrogate to themselves certain knowledge. Usually, the fall is spectacular.

Maybe it would be better to say, “I’m not Far Right (left or centre). I’m just human.”