Two things that scare us are corpses and ghosts. Peter Kreeft wrote about this, noting that these scare us because they are separated things that belong together. When apart, dead bodies revolt our senses and spirits terrorize our minds. Horror movie plots depend upon our disturbance at this separation of body and soul, or if not total separation, then the disordering or the dismemberment of bodies and souls. Without the soul the body is not animated, and without the body the soul is as invisible as a passing breeze.
Now, I am not a trained philosopher, but it seems fairly straight forward that if God doesn’t exist, then our soul fades away with him, and along with those things, so goes our free will. Worse still, in a godless universe where we are happenstances of chemistry, the “do unto others” notion begins to unglue. Things we hold in our minds fall apart quickly once the soul is denied. The soul is like a binding agent, like an egg in a recipe, that keeps the flour of matter held together. Remove either part of the recipe and the whole cookie crumbles.
This presented a real problem for me, as the idea of the Golden Rule clung to me even after falling away from faith. The concept of “do unto others” is found in various religions and cultures throughout history. However, the further step of “love your enemy” is unique to only a few. Jesus was quoting the Old Testament in his two commandments to “love God” and “do unto others.” He did not invent it himself, he was quoting Moses and Proverbs, but taking it even further into forgiveness. To make the point stick, he claimed to be God, the actual one and only God, the living God, and then he lived out this practice of loving his enemies, all the way to his final breath on the Cross.
This is the trouble with Jesus.
He raised the bet so high that even if other books of wisdom say, “love your enemy,” none of them declare that the speaker or author of the phrase was God himself. This claim that he makes cannot be understated. He says he is God in the flesh. Imagine hearing someone say that to you. What is most unbelievable to me is that I believe him when he says it.
More strange still is the fact that even non-believers quote and paraphrase Jesus, when they should be rejecting him entirely as a liar. Many atheists are obsessed with Jesus, but only to disprove him or mock him. Yet they can’t look away. They can’t stop talking about Jesus. The trouble here is that what he says is insane to us, but then he doesn’t act insane. Instead everything he says and does becomes convincing that he is not lying, which is why we cannot stop reading and arguing about him, and naturally, those who deny him wind up hating his followers. Oddly enough, Jesus predicted all of this, telling his followers that they would be hated. Wow, was he right about that.
If Jesus is not God, then what else would Jesus be but an arrogant and insane person? That’s why the response from deniers comes like a hammer. If you don’t see the God in Jesus, then the response could only be anger. Really, who could possibly be taken serious saying, “I forgive your sins,” unless the person saying it was God? Who could possibly have the nerve to speak it, and expect to be believed, save God himself?
The Thomas Jefferson Bible is an attempt to circumvent this problem of Jesus’ divinity, but Jefferson missed the point from the start. Jesus is not only instructing us about God. He is very clearly telling us that he is God. Jefferson cut out all miracles and supernatural events of his Bible, keeping just the teachings of Jesus. As a Deist, Jefferson believed in God, but not in the divinity of Jesus. But why would anyone, let alone the wise Jefferson, keep the teachings of an ordinary flesh-and-bone person that claimed to be God but was lying about it? If Jesus is not God, why would anyone care what he said about anything, on any topic?
When I was a non-believer, I thought Thomas Jefferson was onto something, but at some point in my struggle with faith in the Resurrection I realized that if the miracles are not true, then Jesus is not God, and that would make the teachings a complete waste of time. Buddhism has great teachings, so you can get that there. Stoicism has all the morals and self-denial you’ll ever need, and a ton of great sayings to use in place of prayer. Greek mythology has more characters and better drama. We don’t need or want an “ethical teacher” who says he is God, unless he actually is God. If he is truly the incarnate God, then yes, we want that. We want that very much. More than anything in the world. There are plenty of people in history who have believed they are God. But we don’t believe any of those people. We only believe this one carpenter who made the claim.
If the miracles and Resurrection did not happen, then Jesus is a fraud. But if the miracles are true, then the teachings matter. No, it’s more than that. Then everything he ever said or did matters immensely. Quite honestly I would rather Jefferson had carved a version of the Gospels that kept the miracles instead of the teachings, because while the teachings are wonderful, the Resurrection is why a billion people occupy pews every week. They do not get dressed up for church on Sunday morning because he told the parable of the talents or upbraided some Pharisees about the meaning of the law. The Resurrection is everything. The teachings interpret the rules we are the live by, but they do not provide the reason for belief. The reason for belief is the miracle, not the parables. I don’t like rules. But I love the miracle. Thus, I love the parables, too. If the Resurrection didn’t happen, then those rules don’t matter. But the more I read the Gospels the more I realize that I can not help but see that Jesus is God. There is just no other way around it. I cannot read it any other way.
So as a result, if you see that Jesus is the incarnate God, his “do unto others” and “pray for your enemies” become real commands. You don’t have martyrs of other faiths praying for their enemies while being tortured and killed, as Jesus did when he cried out, “Forgive them for they know not what they do." Then you have the many saints doing the same thing, like St. Stephen or St. Maria Goretti or Good King Wenceslaus. For a believer the right answer to every situation is to imitate Jesus, but this proves very difficult. This is like reading fan fiction, where the imitator never lives up to the original writer.
Sure, praying for your enemies sounds good on paper, but that idea is not natural to us. Love my enemy sounds reasonable when I am comfortable and full and warm. Most of us live in greater comfort than any king who existed before the inventions of refrigeration or indoor plumbing. In a stable society, with well-fed people, in warm houses, and plenty of jobs, then, yes, “love your enemy” seems entirely possible. But many people today can feel how tenuous and fragile this order of our modern society actually is and no prophet is needed to announce that we are likely occupying a temporary state in human history.
This problem of being only a creature, only chemistry, is troubling, or should be troubling to us all. If we have intellect but no real free will, with no goal save that of our next meal or personal achievement, hope and charity sink like stones. If we lack souls, then we are solely creatures, and creatures forget “do unto others” when resources grow scarce. When it comes time to eat, a wolf does not think of the good of the pack until its own belly is full, nor does a blade of grass consider its neighbor when searching for water in a drought. Plants and animals do not divest of their resources or pray for their enemies, they merely strive for self-preservation and reproduction.
These ideas would sometimes corner me when the “noonday demon” of depression would arrive unannounced, at any hour, not only noon. Then, as a creature, I had few places to turn, but none of those places could really help.
Yes, there are pills and therapy, but I could not cry out, "Help me, science!" to answer the deepest longing of my heart, which was never fully satisfied with what this finite world can offer. I could read about Cognitive Behavioral therapy, but that was an arrow still aimed at the self. Mindfulness was another self-buttressing solution, and was a bit warmer to the problem but still faced earthward. Then there was talking to someone, but the talk would give guidance toward lifestyle changes, yoga, hobbies, and offer pamphlets and especially pills. Psychiatry since the time of Sigmund Freud has loathed faith so a nudge never came from there. After making all the lifestyle changes and trying all the suggestions, it always seemed that pills was the actual answer.
Doctor: Any tobacco or alcohol or drug use?
Me: None.
Doctor: So you have a healthy diet and exercise regularly?
Me: Yes. Except for daily breakfast cereal with 9 grams of added sugar per serving.
Doctor: What about yoga?
Me: Yes. I’ve done that.
Doctor: How is your job and family relationships?
Me: All very stable.
Doctor: And you have hobbies and friends.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: What about financial difficulties?
Me: I have a good job.
Doctor: Are you overstressed?
Me: Only when I drink too much coffee.
Doctor: And you’ve read those pamphlets I gave you?
Me: Yes, and many other books.
Doctor: (pensive, coming to the end of his WebMD list of suggestions) Have you tried prayer?
I’m kidding. Of course the last comment didn’t happen. No, here is what the last comment was:
Doctor: (pensive, coming to the end of his WebMD list of suggestions) Well, I guess we can increase your dosage. How many milligrams are you taking? I’ll write a new prescription for you.
Always pills. Always pills. Hooray for pills! I felt like the scene in the movie Dumb and Dumber where Jim Carrey is stuffing rat poison pills into a man’s mouth and telling him, “Pills are good. Pills are good.”
Science, that trusty tool to fix all the things, could offer facts and instruct me about neurotransmitters and receptors and synaptic clefts. Better yet, science could do some magic with those pills that seemed to provide a solution. But in the end I realized that pills did not resolve the problem any more than getting high or drunk ever solved a problem. Taking pills to address spiritual problems is like taking Advil to heal a compound bone fracture. It’s the wrong treatment.
So science wasn’t the solution.
Nor could I say, “Help me, self!” when the well inside was already dry. The cistern was cracked, my tank was empty, so I could not draw up the strength needed to restore myself, as my self lacked the necessary mortar to seal the drain. In fact, my self was the problem, so I only could pretend for a while to “suck it up” or “man up.” As an employee of large corporations, I was very good at keeping up the adage “Fake it until you make it,” as that is the lifeblood of office culture. But faking takes a toll. At some point, unless you are especially gifted with the twin pillars of pride and vanity, faking it becomes hard to maintain. Along with drinking issues, this is another stop in life where I discovered the flaw in willpower, as the self has its limits. Both science and willpower eventually run into finite walls. What a surprise then when I discovered that the Holy Spirit not only seals the cistern, but it fills it too, and as a bonus it can pass through those finite walls.
No knowledge or possessions or status or science or self-assurance could help me with the underlying questions. “If you’re felling depressed,” I was told, “it’s because there is a chemical imbalance in your brain that requires medication.” Whenever I heard this I could not help but think of Brave New World and the drug called soma, where the characters would take this wonder drug to bury any uncomfortable feelings or questions about their life and the universe. The narrator even says “…that second dose of soma had raised a quite impenetrable wall between the actual universe and their minds.” In fact, various lines from the book says it all. Soma had “All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.”
What I heard from my fellow atheist friends and my doctor was what Huxley’s sex-obsessed character Lenina says in the book when Bernard is feeling blue:
“…why you don't take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours. You'd forget all about them. And instead of feeling miserable, you'd be jolly. So jolly.”
So I did. Or I tried to be jolly. I pretended for periods of time to have conquered the problem, but it never truly disappeared. I tried to answer the yearning, to fill the void with sand, to pulverize it, to medicate it, to cure it with therapy, to use mindfulness, and to ignore it through chasing goals. But science and my personal autonomy proved inadequate in fastening any kind of lasting meaning to existence. Science did not satisfy the heart, nor did my own attempts at sculpting truth suffice.
Science feeds our need for certainty, for actual answers, and science is excellent for finding truth in certain spaces. I should qualify that; the hard sciences are reliable at finding truth through measurement and experiment. There are various other “sciences” that do not share the same rigor as chemistry and biology and physics, but even these three fields are beginning to have bleed-through from non-scientific political and social ideologies. Yet, even solid science cannot get us all the way to the goal, to the full “why.” The “whys” I am speaking of are all simple sentences: the why of existence, of being, of knowledge, of gravity, of time, of beginnings, of endings, of justice, of truth, of goodness, of beauty, of righteousness, of suffering, of forgiveness, of redemption.
The real questions were these subtle “whys.” Like shadows behind a wall, the shapes were papered over, kept in hiding by small talk and distractions. We could all see the shapes but we avoided talking about them. Instead we talked about these things: “Have you seen the <insert latest TV show name here>?” “Did you watch the <local sports team> game yesterday?” “Can you believe what President <current president> said?” “Have you seen the new <product that will bring happiness>?”
Those were not the questions I cared about. The main question underneath, that I was seeking, is encapsulated in this quote:
"Man will always yearn to know, at least in an obscure way, what is the meaning of his life, of his activity, of his death." (Gaudium et Spes, 41)
I would go to great lengths to find answers to these questions via ideology in a book or through the lens of my self and my experience. But sooner or later, a little tug would come back to me. As it always does, I’d feel the tug, like the nibble of a fish biting a hook.
This electric feeling of “the tug” was like that which comes through a fishing pole, when the tug of something on the hook alerts the mind, while simultaneously quickening the heart. Anyone who has gone fishing and had the luck of getting a nibble, or better yet, catching a fish, knows this feeling. The tug of the fish brings full awareness. You become awake to what is happening in the water, where you cannot see, but you know full well something is there because you can feel it. We only have our senses to know anything, but this kind of tug that I’m talking about goes past our usual senses into something deeper, to a sense in the heart that cannot be quantified, captured, or tested like other things.
Old ideas would come into motion. Something would hint to me that there is more than just work and paying bills or having sex or drinking beer. But I would shut those thoughts down because I did not want to open those archives. I was worried that what I had denied might be true. That was the real fear. I believed that I had control and that God was not real. But then on occasion the tug became a strike, a direct bite. A fight. Suddenly then I’d be wrestling with the question: what if it is true? What if I am not the creator of my destiny? What if there is something more to life?
For anyone who knows what I’m talking about - this feeling of a tug - if you doubt or deny God, you will probably ignore that tug, like I did, and continue onward. No shortage of TV series and movies and hilarious cat videos await, so you can carry on for years with staring into screens. But sooner or later in life you may not want to ignore it. You may not be able to ignore it forever as some event will force the issue. The beauty of free will is the choices we get to make. The path we are being guided to walk is to ignore the tug. That’s what we are being told by every part of society: TikTok advertisement: “You are the good thing.” Christina Aguilera: “You’re beautiful, in every single way.” L’Oréal Paris: “Because you’re worth it.” Nike: “Just do it.” Harley Davidson: “American by birth. Rebel by choice.” Reebok: “Cheat on your girlfriend, not your workout.”
I guess the slogan, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner,” will just never do well in sales. Memento Mori sounds better as a slogan, but the translation, “Remember one day you will die,” also probably won’t sell widgets. “Take up your cross and follow me” will probably not be a Bud Light Super Bowl ad any time soon. Well, I guess these slogans aren’t for the short term. In the long run, however, as in eternity, these slogans work wonders.
How funny it is to me that I refused to take orders from anyone, but all the while I was being told, guided, instructed what to do by advertisers and businesses and governments and influential people. As the doctor guided me toward pharmaceuticals, the political parties and ad agencies and sports leagues and social media were going to great lengths to keep me distracted from addressing the tug, from calling on the aching question that was raising its hand. While the world was selling me on freedom and autonomy, they were telling me what to do every step of the way. They were telling me, “Don’t be a fool. Don’t look into it. Whatever you do, do not ask the hard questions.”
But the tug was summoning me to something bigger, to this much greater question, far bigger than what Apple product to buy or Netflix show to watch. And I didn’t want anything like God to be true. I did not want it to be valid. Because then someday I would have to revisit those rules, those old bronze age edicts that I felt so unfair, so out of touch with our modern world, and that bothered my sense of freedom because they said “No” to my behavior. I didn’t want to be challenged.
