By Their Fruits, Ye Shall Know Them
Mr. Rogers Was Right About the Helpers—And the Pretenders
It is one of the peculiar ironies of modern life that those who do the most often say the least, and those who do the least are rarely silent. In an age where Twitter bios are longer than résumés and expertise is claimed with the same confidence as hair dye at a televangelist convention, it is increasingly difficult to sort the wheat from the chaff—or the helper from the hustler.
But it was not always so hard. The Bible, in its unfashionable but enduring wisdom, offered the diagnostic centuries ago: “By their fruits ye shall know them.” And in simpler times, when a man’s word still meant something and credentials came from deeds rather than LinkedIn edits, that was enough.
Today, we are expected to know people by their bios. Or their follower counts. Or their performative outrage at problems they profit from never solving.
But the old rule still applies, for those with the eyes—and attention span—to see it.
The Doers vs. the Debaters
Mr. Rogers, who knew more about human nature than half the psychology departments at Ivy League schools, told children to “look for the helpers.” And if you squint through the fog of social media, they’re still there: the ones quietly pointing others in the right direction, solving problems without needing to be celebrated, creating value rather than commentary or accusations.
They’re not loud. They don’t tweet every time they breathe. They are not obsessed with who they are, but with what others might become.
And they are, almost without exception, the targets of the ones who aren’t.
The Cult of Expertise Without Accountability
We’re living through a strange inversion: the louder one declares their credibility, the less likely they are to have any. When someone tells you, “Trust me, I’m in the industry,” it often means they are in the business of avoiding questions. It's a curious affliction, this inability to answer direct questions while possessing an endless capacity to issue vague decrees from behind the curtain.
They claim titles they later disavow. They present errors as provocations. They say “I already admitted that” as if retroactive honesty counts for something. They are, in short, the kind of people who would fail a polygraph and blame the machine.
There is a certain flavor of anonymity that seeks not to protect humility or privacy—but to escape consequence. And from that cover, the anonymous snipers launch critiques against the very people who dare to build, to teach, to share. The kind of people who leave a mark, not just a comment.
Building vs. Barking
What distinguishes the helper from the heckler is not access, nor credentials, nor visibility. It is character.
The helper shows up, not to be seen, but to serve. The heckler shows up only when the spotlight is on, and usually to drag someone else into it.
The helper builds quietly and lets the results speak. The heckler speaks constantly and builds nothing.
And here is the kicker: the helper has receipts. Not from the store, but from life. You can trace the ripple effects of their actions, even if they never tweet about them. Their fruit is visible. The heckler, meanwhile, often ends up producing only what the philosopher might politely call “fruit of a different kind.”
Why This Still Matters
Because eventually, everyone reveals themselves. And when they do, it is rarely through what they say about themselves—but what others come to say about them. The truth, like water, finds its level. And the helpers, the doers, the fruit-bearers—they endure.
They may not win the trending topics. They may not write the hit pieces. But they will have changed lives in ways that those who only posture never could.
So if you're looking to know who someone really is, don’t look at their bio. Don’t look at their boasts. Look at their fruit.
Look at what they’ve built.
Look at who they’ve helped.
Look at what happens when they speak—do others grow, or wither?
And in the words of Mr. Rogers—look for the helpers. They are the ones who make this noisy, fraudulent world worth inhabiting.
If this spoke to you, share it. And if it didn’t, maybe ask yourself why.
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