DYING TO CONTROL: The 21st Century DilemmaSubscribe Now

What Happens When the “Miracle of Life” is No Longer a Miracle?

In today’s world we don’t view the “miracle of life” as being much of a miracle anymore. The microscope has allowed us to unravel the mystery of conception, the pill and abortion have given women power over pregnancy, anesthesia has reduced the pain of childbirth, and modern prenatal and postnatal care have greatly reduced the mortality rates of mother and child. Thanks to modern medicine we have essentially gained control over pregnancy and childbirth, and having done so we no longer need to view God as the Giver of life. Now we can see ourselves as the givers of life, and we can feel justified in deciding when life begins and when life should end.

     Seeing ourselves as the givers of life has significant implications for how we view our children. Instead of viewing them as being created in “the image of God,” we view them as being created in our image. Instead of teaching our children to pursue what God created them to be, we encourage them to be whatever they want to be, and we push and manipulate them to do what we want them to do.

     Yes, we want our children to be healthy for their benefit, but we also want them to be healthy for our benefit. A healthy child makes a more flattering accessory for a mannequin on display than a child who is deformed, handicapped, or retarded.

     If you think I’m being too harsh or overstating my point, consider the ultimate goal of the Human Genome Project. We want to think the goal of mapping human DNA is to eradicate disease and birth defects. That may be a goal, but is it the goal? I think the ultimate goal is immortality. As the givers of life we want the ability to give ourselves eternal life, and if we cannot make ourselves immortal, then the second-best option is to have the ability to create our children in whatever image we desire. If we can successfully identify, reproduce, and splice all the genes needed to form a human being, maybe we can fashion the idols of our dreams. Can you imagine a build-a-baby boutique where we could flip through catalogues of human traits, from eye color to IQ, custom designing our children, with the only limitation being the balance in our checking account?

     Whether we want to believe it or not, this is where we are trying to take technology in the twenty-first century. Although God told Adam, “for dust you are and to dust you will return,” we are unwilling to accept God as the Giver and Sustainer of life—we want to give ourselves eternal life.

     As technology continues to advance in the twenty-first century, offering us more and more control over pregnancy and childbirth, who or what will we trust as the giver of life? Will we spend more time pursuing ageless immortality? Will we commit more energy to living like mannequins on display? Will we try to fashion our children into the idols of our dreams? Or will we become more grateful for the life we have, embrace the limits of our humanity, and love our children as God created them?

The Illusion of Control

This excerpt from chapter 6 addresses the effects that modern technology has had on how we experience (or don’t experience) life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

     The illusion of control vanished as people across Washington, DC, Virginia, and Maryland feared for their lives. There was at least one sniper on the loose, randomly shooting individuals in shopping center parking lots and gas stations. As panic settled over the Washington metropolitan area, people began to look over their shoulders as they loaded groceries and pumped gas into their cars, hoping, praying, that they would not be next.

     After three weeks of terror, on October 24, 2002, two perpetrators were apprehended at a rest stop off an interstate highway. The ordeal had finally come to an end but tragically not before ten people had been killed and three others seriously wounded by the Beltway snipers.

     Horrific stories like this one are disturbing. Somewhere deep within our beings, maybe in our souls, we feel a most unsettling angst—one that tends to linger. Death can have this effect on us, particularly in situations where it could have been avoided, or in this case when it is a random, senseless act of violence. It just feels wrong.

     Beyond the tragic loss of life, there’s something else about an event like this that disturbs us—the jarring realization that we’re not in control of our lives as much as we’d like to think. The idea that I could be shot while loading groceries into my car reminds me that I do not sustain my own life. Sure, we can avoid dangerous situations and take meticulous care of our bodies, but ultimately we’re not in control. There are countless internal and external variables that could end our lives in an instant. A blood vessel could burst in my brain as I type these words and there would be nothing I could do about it; a drunk driver could hit me head-on before I have a second to react; a tidal wave could wash over my family as we stand helplessly on the beach; and a giant asteroid could be hurling toward Earth, and the only thing we could do would be to count down the seconds until impact. We are at the mercy of the world around us, and we need our bodies to perform countless involuntary functions to keep us alive. That’s part of why hearing a story about madmen randomly shooting people is so troublesome; it’s a shocking reminder that life is fragile and that we do not have ultimate control over our lives. Death, without warning, can visit any one of us at any time.

     However, in twenty-first-century America, we live with the illusion that we’re in control of our lives. Most mornings when we get out of bed, we expect to return to our pillows that evening. The average American has no reason to think otherwise, and so understandably we assume each day we’ll live for yet another day.

     We’re able to live with this illusion of control because technology has helped us mitigate the curses. Most Americans don’t have to fight off wild animals. Thanks to gunpowder, pesticides, vaccines, and other modern developments, we’ve regained control over much of the animal world. As for our struggle with the ground, irrigation techniques, genetic engineering of plants, modern machinery, and advancements in weather forecasting and seismology have helped us manage and even at times control our groaning planet. We’ve mitigated the curses to a greater degree than any other people in human history, and as technology continues to progress, so will our illusion of control.

     …Technology feeds the illusion of control so much so that it is easy for us to think that we don’t need God, that we can sustain ourselves, and that we can tame our groaning planet. As a result, we’re consumed with self-preservation. Instead of focusing on today, we worry about tomorrow. Instead of being content with what we have, we search for what we think we need.

     As we pursue self-preservation, life is passing us by. We want to believe that “there’s always tomorrow,” which is why death, particularly the unexpected death of a loved one, leaves us questioning how we spend our time today. In mitigating the curses, we seem to be losing sight of what really matters—life together.…

     As technology continues to advance in the twenty-first century, offering us more and more control over the curses, who or what will we trust to sustain our lives? Will we spend more time pursuing the illusion of control? Will we commit more energy to preserving our own existence? Will we become more adept at playing the blame game? Or will we become more grateful for what we have, take more responsibility for our actions, and regain perspective on what really matters in life?

Why Does God Seem So Distant?

“Why does God seem so distant?” Have you ever asked yourself that question?

This excerpt from chapter 4 addresses what I believe is the central issue in our relationship with God.

     After eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, Adam and Eve wanted nothing to do with God. When they heard God walking in the garden of Eden, they hid from him among the trees. When God called out to Adam, “Where are you?” Adam offered a lame excuse for hiding. When God asked Adam what had happened, Adam blamed Eve for giving him the forbidden fruit, and he blamed God for giving him an inadequate helper. Finally, when God asked Eve what she had done, Eve blamed the serpent. After eating the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve did all they could to avoid God, and when God brought the truth to light, Adam and Eve refused to take responsibility for violating their personal relationship with God.

     Yet despite all that Adam and Eve had done—the betraying, the covering, the hiding, and the blaming—God didn’t give up on his relationship with humankind. God pursued Adam and Eve again and again.

     What overwhelms me most about God’s pursuit of Adam and Eve is not his undying commitment to humankind; what overwhelms me most is how God’s reaching out to Adam and Eve seems to contradict a fundamental tenet of the Judeo-Christian belief system. Central to both Judaism and Christianity is the doctrine that sin and sinful beings cannot exist in the holy presence of God, but in the garden of Eden drama—the story that explains when and how sin entered the human race—God is portrayed as one who reaches out to sinful humanity.

I don’t know what you were taught as a child, but I was raised to believe that sin cannot exist in the presence of God, and therefore, God had to banish sinful people from his presence. Why? Why was I lead to believe that God abandoned us, that he turned his back on me, when the story of Adam and Eve clearly teaches that God pursues us again and again?

Maybe instead of asking, “Why does God seem so distant?” we should be asking, “Why do we distance ourselves from God?” Maybe our “search” for God is actually our running from God; maybe it’s God who is searching for us.

Are We Merely Mannequins on Display?

This excerpt from chapter 3 uncovers our greatest fear and exposes the great lengths we go to keep it covered.

     What is your greatest fear? Some researchers tell us our greatest fear is public speaking. Yet when you think about it, the fear of public speaking isn’t a fear of being in public or a fear of speaking, it’s a fear of making a mistake or not having an answer to a question. We fear being laughed at. We fear whispering words. We fear judgment. We fear being seen naked.

     The fear of being seen naked runs much deeper than simply a fear of being found without clothes. It’s a fear that a suit of armor can’t cover—a fear we live with every day. Imagine if in an instant every thought you’ve ever had and everything you’ve ever said and done were fully exposed for all to see. How would you feel? Naked?

     In response, we are consumed with covering and hiding the truth of who we are, what we think, and the shameful things we’ve said and done. We pretend to be smarter, stronger, purer, more beautiful, and better in countless other ways than we really are. We’re desperately afraid of being seen naked.

     To mask our fear we spend our lives in disguise. Like mannequins on display, we change our clothes to the latest fashions, we fix our hair to the newest styles, and we display ourselves with plastic smiles, hoping that all who pass by will like what they see.

     The truth, of course, is that we are not mannequins. We are not filled with foam; we’re filled with other stuff that makes us human, and not simply the blood and guts stuff. There are aspects of our humanity that cannot be contained in a box or measured on a scale. Passion and emotion flood and flow from our bodies. Passion and emotion are what inspire us to experience our humanity. Mannequins don’t feel the shame of being laughed at or the pain of cancer or the sadness of death. And mannequins don’t feel the joy, wonder, and love that come with being human.

     I don’t want to live like a mannequin on display with a lifeless smile, void of inner consciousness and feeling, but I don’t want to be seen naked. When seen naked I often feel vulnerable, weak, and insecure. This creates a particularly difficult dilemma because as an American I’m supposed to be confident, strong, and invincible. I cannot be seen naked—it’s … it’s un-American!

     So then what should I do? What should we do? How do we stop living like mannequins on display?

 

Living in the Land of Forbidden Fruit

This excerpt from chapter 2 demystifies the children’s version of the Adam and Eve story, challenging us to consider how we indulge ourselves on forbidden fruit.

     “If you were raised in the United States, you probably heard about Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit at least once during your childhood. If you’re anything like me, the children’s version of the story acquired a fairy-tale-like mystique, happening once upon a time, long ago, in a faraway place, with the serpent plotting to eliminate the naïve maiden, and the forbidden fruit—the serpent’s agent of death—taking on the shrouded identity of a spellbound apple. In this fairy-tale rendering the garden of Eden drama is reduced to a moral lesson on the need to obey God or else.

     The children’s version of the Adam and Eve story is so prevalent and accepted in our culture that when I speak on the subject, most people are surprised to hear that the biblical account does not state that the forbidden fruit was an apple. In fact, the type of fruit Adam and Eve ate is not revealed anywhere in the Bible. To take it a step further, to my knowledge there is no definitive historical record or consensus identifying the kind of fruit Adam and Eve ate, but the perception that the forbidden fruit was an apple has been so accepted in our society that it has reached the status of common knowledge. …

     I’ve come to believe that the original storyteller did not reveal the fruit’s identity because the fruit itself is not that important to the story. Identifying the fruit might have even been a distraction, directing the audience’s attention away from the participants in the drama and onto the fruit itself. If the author had revealed the type of fruit that hung on the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, then maybe humans would have cut down and burned every such “evil” tree just as we have cut down and burned “evil” books and “evil” people, thinking that the problem of evil in the world could be eradicated by destroying “evil” forms. …

     There didn’t need to be anything extraordinary about the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil or its fruit because the story is not about what Eve and Adam ate, or about an evil form, or about a moral lesson on the need to obey God or else. The story of Adam and Eve is the human story of our determining for ourselves what is good and evil and in doing so attempting to sustain our own existence.

     Although we don’t have the choice between eating from the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, each of us in our own way examines the forbidden fruit, asking why we should not eat it. Each of us in our own way struggles with the question “Do you trust me?” Sometimes we overcome the temptation to do what seems right in our own eyes, but other times the allure of more, offering a delightful illusion of control and satisfaction, proves too much to suppress, and we indulge ourselves with the forbidden fruit.

Please, take some time to reflect upon this excerpt and share your thoughts.

The Cost of Chasing After the “American Dream”

For this blog to be a helpful resource the posts need to address the issues and struggles of its readers. Therefore, to get a pulse on the audience, the first month of posts will be excerpts—intentionally provocative excerpts—from my book Dying to Control that will hopefully spark conversation.

This first excerpt comes from chapter 1, addressing the issue of personal relationships and how we, in American society, have sacrificed our personal relationships for the sake of chasing after the “American dream.”

Do you trust me?” is the central question of personal relationships. Trust is what binds people together. The extent to which we experience trust with one another will determine the depth of each relationship. For example, we typically proclaim our love to another only after we’ve gained a level of confidence that the other will gently handle such sensitive news. Once we express our love, we wait in exposed anticipation to see how it’s received. If it’s handled well, we deem the water safe for experiencing deeper expressions of trust.

            Yet regardless of how safe we feel in any personal relationship, exhibiting trust assumes certain risks. Whether we trust someone with privileged information, material goods, or our lives, to trust is to run the risk of being betrayed, rejected, or maybe even abandoned. Personal relationships do not come with any contractual guarantees. Once formal agreements enter a relationship, that aspect of the relationship is defined by impersonal terms. There is no way to escape the fact that investing in personal relationships demands personal risk.

            Given the uncertainty of personal relationships, it’s reasonable to question whether they are worth pursuing. What if a person, after being betrayed or abandoned, concludes that engaging in personal relationships is just not worth the risk?…

Impersonal relationships now dominate our society. Buying a product without a contract or written guarantee is seen as foolish or naïve. Privacy fences in our suburban communities allow us to ignore our neighbors. A conversation without purposeful intent is considered lost time. Productivity, productivity, productivity is our consuming obsession. Who has the time, energy, or interest to just be with other people? What a waste—right?

The exchange of personal for impersonal relationships has not just affected our human interactions. The exchange has transcended into the God-human realm as well. In American society, we generally view our relationship with God as a contractual exchange of products and services. We try to live by the rules of our respective faiths while God doles out rewards and punishments in response to our successes and failures in meeting the terms of the agreement.

For those who claim to have a personal relationship with God, tragedy can quickly reveal how impersonal that relationship may actually be. The common expressions “What did I do to deserve this?” and “God, what do you want from me?” question whether I (or maybe God) failed to meet some requirement of the God-human contract. Prayer during times of trial can also sound impersonal. Take for example these timeless, fill-in-the-blank prayers of desperation: “God, if you ________, I’ll never _______ again”; “God, if you _______, I promise to _______”; and “God, what do you want me to do for you to _______?” Such prayers do not sound like personal appeals to God; instead, they sound like attempts to negotiate a new contract with an old business partner. …

            With “I” at the heart of Western religion and psychology and with the belief that the individual is at the center of the universe, we are gradually losing our identity as relational beings. Achieving financial freedom and self-sufficiency in every imaginable aspect of life has become the American dream, with even God being portrayed as a means for reaching our own individualistic ends.

What do you think? Enrich the conversation by sharing your thoughts and questions.