Talent and Luck Matter, but Divine Favor Completes Kahneman’s Equation

 

By Richard Sebaggala (PhD)

 

I recently read an article in The Economic Times reflecting on a deceptively simple idea from Daniel Kahneman. The quote was familiar and quietly unsettling in its honesty: success is a combination of talent and luck, while great success requires only a little more talent but a lot more luck.

 

As I read the piece, I agreed with much of it. The argument was clear, persuasive, and consistent with Kahneman’s long-standing warning against overstating skill and understating chance. Still, something stayed with me. The insights were sound, yet they felt incomplete when viewed from our context. There was a missing link, one that could widen the argument and make it speak more directly to fragile economies like Uganda and much of Africa.

 

For readers who may not be familiar with him, Kahneman is widely regarded as the father of behavioral economics. His work challenged the assumption that humans are consistently rational decision-makers. By showing how judgment is shaped by bias, heuristics, and randomness, he forced economics to take psychology seriously. His Nobel Prize recognized a simple but uncomfortable truth: markets and life outcomes are far messier than tidy models suggest.

 

That background matters because Kahneman’s wealth quote is not casual pessimism. It is a disciplined conclusion drawn from decades of studying how people misunderstand success. We prefer stories where intelligence, effort, and discipline explain outcomes neatly. Behavioral economics shows otherwise. Timing, networks, institutional gatekeepers, accidents, and macroeconomic shifts often matter just as much, and sometimes more. In today’s volatile economy, shaped by AI disruption, fragile labor markets, and political uncertainty, this insight feels especially relevant.

 

Believing that success is fully earned creates two problems. It breeds quiet arrogance among those who succeed, and it leaves those who struggle thinking their failure is entirely personal. Kahneman’s point unsettles both assumptions.

 

In fragile economies, this reality is not abstract. By fragile economies, I mean settings where institutions are thin, risks are personal, and the link between effort and outcome is unreliable. Talent matters, but it operates in environments where opportunities are uneven and pathways rarely linear. Two people with similar ability can end up in very different places because one met the right person at the right time, accessed capital when it was available, avoided a health or family shock, or simply arrived before a door closed. Hard work is necessary, but it is often not enough.

 

This is where context reshapes interpretation.

 

What economists describe as “luck” is rarely experienced here as blind randomness. In deeply religious societies, luck is commonly understood as God’s grace and favor. People speak of doors opening, protection appearing, and timing aligning in ways they did not plan or control. These experiences are not dismissed as coincidence. They are understood as outcomes shaped beyond individual effort.

 

Kahneman does not frame luck in theological terms, and that is consistent with his scientific approach. But acknowledging randomness does not rule out faith-based interpretations. It simply operates at a different level of explanation. What behavioral economics calls external factors such as health, timing, networks, and shocks, faith communities often describe as divine ordering. Both perspectives point to the same limitation: individuals do not control the full set of conditions that shape outcomes.

 

This distinction matters because belief systems shape behavior. In settings where people distrust God but fear witchcraft or small gods, luck becomes something to manipulate or fear. In settings where people trust God, luck is reframed as grace, something not coerced, but sought through humility, integrity, and right living.

That is why the biblical instruction to seek first God, and the rest will be added, resonates so strongly. It is not an argument against effort or skill development. It is an argument about order and limits. Capability alone does not guarantee outcomes. Effort alone does not control timing. Talent alone does not protect anyone from shocks.

 

Talent without God often drifts into pride.
Effort without grace often turns into exhaustion.
Skill without humility quietly becomes entitlement.

 

Seen this way, Kahneman’s equation is not wrong. It is incomplete. Completing it for fragile economies requires recognizing that success is not a mechanical outcome of inputs alone. It reflects a relationship between human agency and forces beyond it. Capability opens possibilities, but grace shapes which possibilities become real.

 

In a volatile economy, this perspective is grounding. It encourages serious investment in skills while remaining honest about limits. It protects those who are struggling from concluding that they are failures. It also reminds the successful that their position is not proof of superiority, but evidence of fortunate timing.

 

Perhaps the most realistic lesson is this: we should work as if effort matters deeply, and trust as if outcomes are not fully ours to command. Kahneman helps us see the limits of meritocracy. Faith helps us live wisely within those limits.

 

 

When Campaign Rallies Become Economic Lessons: How Deep Cognitive Bias Runs

By Richard Sebaggala (PhD)

 

 

For many years, I have followed Uganda’s presidential and parliamentary campaigns closely. Across election cycles, one pattern has remained remarkably consistent. Beyond the speeches and manifestos, campaign periods are marked by familiar scenes on the roads and in trading centres: convoys moving at high speed, boda boda riders escorting candidates recklessly, traffic rules ignored, and ordinary judgment seemingly suspended. Each election reinforces the same question—why do these behaviours repeat themselves so predictably?

What is often described as political excitement or youthful enthusiasm is, on closer inspection, something deeper. These rallies offer a revealing window into how authority, risk, and scarcity shape decision-making in our society. When viewed through an economic lens, they become more than political events. They become lessons in how cognitive bias operates at scale.

Young people, especially boda boda riders, trail candidates at high speed, ride against traffic, and take risks that would normally be avoided. In some instances, a simple remark or instruction from a candidate—whether sensible or not—is acted upon immediately, without hesitation or reflection. The behaviour is not random. It follows a pattern shaped by authority bias, where the presence of a leader overrides individual judgment and personal safety.

The candidate moves, and the convoy moves. Rules that apply on ordinary days suddenly feel optional. Safety becomes secondary. Riders follow not because it is rational or necessary, but because an authority figure is present and in motion. Judgment is effectively outsourced upward, while the costs of risk are borne individually.

This pattern extends far beyond campaign convoys. It reflects a broader tendency in which personalities override systems. Where authority easily replaces rules, institutions struggle to take root. Compliance becomes conditional on who is watching rather than on shared norms. Over time, this erodes accountability and weakens the very institutions needed for economic coordination and growth.

Alongside authority bias sits optimism bias—the belief that negative outcomes are more likely to happen to others than to oneself. Every rider who speeds through a crowded junction in a convoy assumes, often unconsciously, that nothing will go wrong for them. Accidents are abstract possibilities, not personal risks. The same mindset appears elsewhere in the economy, in low insurance uptake, weak safety practices, and limited preparation for shocks. When optimism bias dominates, risk is normalised and vulnerability accumulates quietly.

It is also iportant to understand why so many young people are drawn into these behaviours. Most are not acting out of ignorance or recklessness. They are responding to incentives shaped by scarcity. When income is unstable and opportunities are limited, the future feels uncertain and distant. Under such conditions, short-term benefits—small payments, fuel, food, recognition, or proximity to power—carry immediate value. Behaviour that appears irrational from a distance often makes sense in the moment.

This is where the development challenge becomes clearer. Scarcity does not only limit material choices; it narrows time horizons. When large segments of the population are locked into short-term thinking, investment in skills, safety, and long-term productivity becomes difficult. Growth requires patience, yet patience is costly when survival is uncertain.

More troubling still is how easily questionable statements or instructions from candidates are accepted and amplified during rallies. Remarks that are clearly impractical or economically unrealistic are often received with applause rather than scrutiny. Here, authority bias blends with confirmation bias. Ideas are accepted not because they are workable, but because they come from a trusted figure. Evidence and feasibility give way to allegiance.

In such an environment, public debate weakens. Elections risk becoming contests of belief rather than judgment. Promises replace plans, and enthusiasm substitutes for evaluation. From a development perspective, this matters deeply. Economies grow when citizens can question leaders, demand credible proposals, and distinguish aspiration from implementation.

The issue, then, is not simply about politics or which candidate wins. It is about how people relate to authority, risk, and incentives. Countries do not develop merely by holding elections. They develop when rules apply consistently, leadership is constrained by institutions, and individuals retain the capacity to think independently, even in the presence of power.

Campaign periods bring these dynamics into sharp focus. They act as large-scale behavioural tests, revealing how people respond to opportunity, uncertainty, and authority when emotions are high and incentives are visible. If we ignore what these moments reveal, we will continue to misdiagnose Uganda’s challenges as purely political or institutional. Some of the most binding constraints lie deeper, in the cognitive habits shaped by scarcity, obedience, and short-term survival.

The rallies will end. The noise will fade. But the patterns they expose do not disappear with the campaign season. They persist in how businesses are run, how policies are evaluated, and how risks are taken in everyday economic life.

That is why campaign rallies deserve attention not just from political analysts, but from anyone concerned with Uganda’s long-term development. They are not only about votes. They are economic lessons, played out in public, revealing how deep cognitive bias runs—and why addressing it is central to any serious conversation about growth.

As we head into the polls on 15th January,2026,  whoever emerges victorious would do well to reflect on what these campaigns have revealed about our society. The cognitive biases on display—authority bias, optimism bias, short-termism driven by scarcity—are not marginal issues. They are central to how policies are received, how institutions function, and how citizens respond to reform. Ignoring them comes at a cost. Well-designed reforms and public interventions, when introduced into a population shaped by these biases, will struggle to gain traction or deliver results. If Uganda is to change its development narrative in a meaningful way, addressing cognitive bias must be treated as seriously as infrastructure, budgets, and laws. Without that attention, progress will remain fragile, and growth will continue to fall short of its promise.