All of us have people close to us telling us what our identities ought to be, and you are likely no exception. Our families and friends make clear that the only way to be moral is to be a Christian (I’m speaking from my own experience here—insert Muslim, Hindu, Jew, Atheist, etc. as is applicable to you), and because we aspire to be—and believe we are—moral people, we maintain a Christian (or whichever other applicable) identity. This rigidity, I’ll contend, constrains us. It makes us less than we could be, both from a self-actualization perspective, and from a moral one as well. It limits our intellectual conclusions and personal beliefs to a prescribed set, which stifles the sort of thinking required to change ourselves and, therefore, the world.
What does this often-unnoticed influence on our identities imply? We do indeed strive to be moral, as evidenced by the fact that those close to us can appeal to our identities as moral people to convince (or coerce) us into maintaining an identity as Christians (or Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Atheists, etc.). It is that coercive restriction, not the belief system itself, which is truly dangerous. Our desperate clinging to identities imposed by others restricts us from the innumerable possible identities we could have, a good many of which may be more suitable both for us and the world in which we live. Knowing that we are not all that we could be leaves us with restlessness and discontent, even if said knowledge is suppressed and never permitted to reach the conscious level of thought. Knowing that the world is getting only a passably good—but never the best possible—version of ourselves leaves us dissatisfied with the mark we leave on the world.
It is ultimately identity, more than reason, which drives all manner of important things—faith, morality, daily actions, and what we believe to be possible. While reason is certainly involved in developing each of these important things (and more), identity has a way of bending reason to its own purposes. Identity kept my reason subjugated to my faith for over two decades. This is no accident, for my own religion at least and—I suspect—a fair number of others taught that it is proper for reason to be subjugated to faith. Because of this subjugation, my reason was obliged to justify things it could never have justified in the absence of an overriding identity constraining the acceptable conclusions at which it could arrive. This subjugation would never have lasted without an overpowering Christian identity; in fact, the reduction in centrality of that identity was a turning point in my relationship to both faith and reason.
During a moment in which I held my Christian identity just a little more loosely, I thought of myself as a moral person first and a Christian second. That order of precedence—moral over Christian—had not been present for at least a decade and a half, and the shift resulted in a faithquake, which compromised the structural integrity of the faith I’d been working to maintain for roughly two decades. This subtle event with cataclysmic effects occurred during the reading of a Bible passage I’d read a hundred times before. 1 Samuel 15:3:
“Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.”
During this hundred and first reading, I didn’t try to justify it. I let myself feel uncomfortable, and I allowed that discomfort to grow unsuppressed. For all the mental gymnastics I had done during all my previous readings to justify this command, I had also envisioned myself in the position of one of the Israelite soldiers expected to carry out this order. I would see myself lining up my sword, looking down the end of it, preparing to run it through an infant. Each time I visualized this, I’d be thankful that God gave no such commands these days. I knew that I could never carry out such an order myself. Women? Children? Infants? But I never took it a step further and recognized that my belief system fully justified this command, which was in fact equally problematic whether it was a command for all time or only a command given during a specific time in history. Fear of losing my identity as a Christian maintained this blind spot; I did not allow myself to see this command through the lens of a plain reading.
But when I clung just a little more loosely to my Christian identity, my reason had just enough breathing room to ask the necessary questions. Questions like:
-How can this command have been justified then and unjustified now?
-Can I claim that morality flows from God as depicted in the Bible, while simultaneously maintaining that I would not have carried out one of the clear commands in the Bible?
The obvious answers cracked the foundations of my faith. I’d always thought I was a moral person, not in the sense that I thought I did the right thing all the time, but in the sense that I generally strove to. I also considered myself a Christian, and I thought that the reason I was moral was because I was a Christian. Christianity was more central to my identity because I thought that morality flowed from Christian teachings. I thought (and was taught, in fact), that putting being a good person above being a Christian would sever morality from its basis, thereby thwarting the very thing I would have sought to make more central.
It had required effort to maintain my moral identity in its “rightful” place on the periphery outside of my Christian identity; my moral identity was always fighting for centrality, and I had to actively repulse it. Mostly, these repulsive efforts consisted of reminding myself that God (as revealed in Christianity) is the source of morality, and that if I had any objections to His morality, I must be wrong on some point or another. And in this manner, all the resources of my intellect were marshalled to justify God’s revealed moral character. Most of the time, my intellect had difficulty dealing, and I ended up taking a break from tough issues like the command to slaughter women and children and moving on to more heartwarming aspects of the Christian religion until I was ready to truly tackle the issue at hand (a future day that almost never arrived).
Yet when I let my guard down and allowed my moral identity the centrality for which it had been striving, I took only a few moments to begin questioning a belief wrapped up in my slightly less central Christian identity. From there, further questions arose, and other beliefs I’d held began to collapse under their own weight as well. It wasn’t long before my Christian identity was not only peripheral, but had escaped my orbit and slipped off somewhere into deep space.
And that’s the real danger. You may well completely topple over the apple cart containing all you think you know about the world and yourself and have to pick up the pieces from there. A willingness to undergo this process requires courage, for an identity is no small thing to let go of. It can be disorienting and bewildering without a long-held anchor to cling to. But if you have the heart for this, it can relieve you from the burden of maintaining beliefs that are not your own to begin with. It can also set you free to be all that you desire to be, not just the part of you that your identity currently allows.
Here are some points to walk away with and questions to consider:
Your identity is your reason’s taskmaster, so choose the taskmaster wisely, and be willing to fashion a new taskmaster when you find your current one wanting.
Fashion your identity based on your deepest desires, not on your reason. If your identity is incongruous with your deepest desires, your reason will be serving a master other than yourself.
Always be open to realize there is something more at the core, deeper, than what you currently consider your chief identity. Hold on to your current identity loosely so that it can get knocked into a more peripheral orbit if that’s where it belongs.
Finally, I’m interested to hear what you all have to say. Do you have experiences that affirm or contradict this interplay between identity, belief, and reason? Clear thinking and truthful beliefs are worthy goals. What other barriers are there to achieving these goals?
To respond, feel free to comment below. Tough questions are welcome. Respect is absolutely necessary.
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