Why I Believe
I found my real dad. But only because He found me first.
I’d been told that I was a random assortment of molecules brought together for no known reason. I’d heard that it was pointless to look for meaning outside myself, and that I should stop expecting what mattered to me to matter to anyone else.
But everywhere I turned, I saw flashing neon signs telling me the opposite. Mind, morality, and purpose were pointing me in a very different direction.
Mind and Matter
Molecules are fascinating. Protons, electrons, and neutrons unite to form atoms, and atoms can bond to form molecules. These molecules can associate to form tissues, tissues comprise organs, and organs can coordinate their efforts to maintain an organism’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
But molecules can’t explain the mind, because the mind truly is over matter. My brain may become victim to Alzheimer’s or a traumatic brain injury. But this would only affect my mind’s ability to communicate through matter; it wouldn’t destroy my mind itself. Think about the expression “absent-minded.” Doesn’t this phrase itself imply that our mind is simply camping out in our bodies? Our mind is simply holding the reins of our physical side; it itself is not physical.
Morality’s Music
Which brings me back to the neon signs. Not only do I find a distinction between my material and nonmaterial sides: they’re often at war!
Who out there has never felt a check on their baser motives? Maybe it was that inner sense of “maybe I shouldn’t” as you clicked on yet another YouTube video, or a friend calling you out on a commitment you were trying to break.
Both these checks are pulling you back to a standard outside yourself. It’s like a sheet of music: it’s not that I can only play what’s written there—I can. But there’s a reason the notes are there, and my disagreeing with or ignoring their existence doesn’t nullify their existence. Also, if you watch me play and have the music, you can very easily see where I played the notes, and where I didn’t.
The notes in life’s music book are the notes of universal morality. Sure, I’ve heard arguments against the idea of universal morality: that morality is purely a social construct that changes with each passing generation. But this is a difficult case to make. If I mention that from my earliest moments I had an innate sense that lying about something was objectively wrong, and doing so caused me intense shame, many people would probably tell me that this was only because my parents had taught me that lying was wrong and shameful. My parents did teach me about lying, but what they taught me resonated with something that was already planted deep within my heart. Their teachings were like someone humming along with a symphony playing in the distance. I had already heard the melody before: that’s why I recognized it when they hummed it again.
Of course, knowing that something is objectively wrong doesn’t mean I never do it. Even though I know lying is wrong and shameful, I sometimes catch myself in the midst of one. And if I continually do this, the shame will eventually fall off completely. Thus, I can shape my life so it resonates with that first symphony I heard, or I can block my ears and try to write my own tune—in a different meter, key, and style.
Those who acknowledge the God of the Bible have discovered the original music of the symphony, and are trying to harmonize with it. Some who hate God outlaw music and shoot would-be minstrels on sight. But it’s hard to enforce the “no music” rule: you’d have to outlaw every plastic bucket, hammering blacksmith, and whistle in the Cracker Jack. So most societies create parodies of the original symphony. Because it’s awfully hard not to use the good ideas we first heard.
The motifs that spring up in every culture stem are from the original symphony we all heard in our souls. They are what truly create common ground between cultures, so different in other respects. In our best moments, we’re singing the same song.
The Purpose of Purpose
As you and I go through life making these choices, deciding what we will include in our life’s symphony, we directly or indirectly answer the question, “What matters?” What brings us all to this question? Because we all want a sense of purpose.
It’s what fills the eyes of a student just accepted to medical school, and keeps him going when three years into the program the glamor’s all worn off. It’s what flows through the mind of a runner poised at the beginning of a race and keeps his feet hitting the pavement when he feels like giving up.
I saw a young man talking about his decision to join the military. He didn’t talk about the gourmet food he’d eat or the chance to explore the world. He talked about being on the front lines; seeing action. His face was full of purpose. He was willing to leave the security and joys of the life he knew to pursue a noble goal.
Is all this an illusion? Is our desire to love, to persevere, to matter all a farce? Is free will itself a cruel joke from our Twisted Mother Gaea?
Because my answer is no, I am lead to ask where my desire my purpose emanates from.
The Chief End of Man
The answer I’ve found is my Heavenly Father. Like an adopted child finding their birth father, I have traced my origins back to a loving, creative God. When I found Him, I realized that He wanted to be found. He hadn’t been camping out on a mountaintop twirling His beard. He’d been working in my life from its very beginning, and actively trying to reach me with His love.
The more I get to know Him, the more I recognize in Him the love behind every loving motive I’d ever had, the discipline behind every decision I’ve followed through on, and the humor behind every joke I’ve ever laughed at.
In short, all that is good points me to the source of goodness—God. These goods things were never an end in themselves, but clues to their Creator. And now that I have found Him, I never want to leave.