The Spectrum of Suffering, the Medicine of Mercy
By Josh J. Valley
This article is written in honour of martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer in the 77th year since his execution at the direct order of Adolph Hitler at Flossenbürg concentration camp in 1945. It is dedicated to all those with mental illness and addictions who still suffer today and have lost their lives due to chemical dependency, suicide and maltreatment.
Suffering comes in many forms. Traditionally, Christianity has thought of suffering in terms of the “outcast” suffering from poverty, war, and disease. This is true of many who suffer (and have suffered) given the immense physiological (whole body) pain that manifests from being crushed by the wheel of systemic injustice. Human beings, as philosopher James K.A. Smith rightly puts it, are “fully-embodied creatures,” and as such, suffer on a spectrum. And the spectrum is widening.
It is true that the most visible of sufferers are represented in the neglected social classes or victims of war, for instance, but when we look at it in the context of addiction—a dis-ease of body, mind, heart and soul— we will start to see that many suffer (not only visibly, but in hiding) in a world that has become addicted to the “dopamine hits” of a consumeristic, pleasure-driven world that sells fantasy, power and escape in real and instant time. One addict may suffer visibly on the streets from opioid or fentanyl abuse, another isolated and hidden in a penthouse suite immeshed in the sexual exploits of pornography and virtual sex, and still another who suffers from his parents’ basement caught up in the endless temptations of online gambling as a way to cope with the deep pain of existential uncertainty.
We can call this the Great Dopamine Chase. Addiction does not discriminate. And the spectrum is widening.
Integrated into the very fabric of western society is the toxic and profit-driven Empire of Consumerism, backed by Big Data and Big Government, that in plain sight lures humanity away from each other and reality and into a digitally fabricated “metaverse” and “consumerverse” that usurps the spirituality of everyday life, the sacredness of the earth and the deep need for reality-grounded relationships and concrete community belonging. Many are able to integrate such activities into their lives and still stay afloat as a relatively functioning member of society—whatever that means—despite the spiritual and psychological evidence pointing to a historic crisis of meaning, belonging, depression, and emotional intelligence.
What social scientists, brain scientists, and the great spiritual leaders can agree on fundamentally, is that the Empire of Consumerism in all its twenty-first century manifestations, has come to replace the inherent concepts and concrete reality of human spirituality, which cries out for the human race to turn inward and embrace the wounded and traumatized soul and brain, instead of outward into the world of distraction, escape and the self-medication of life’s traumas.
Addiction is a spirituality crisis mainly because its sufferers find themselves disconnected in the areas that a healthy spirituality can heal and create meaningful connection and belonging: our relationship with ourselves, our loved ones, and a Higher Power (or a power outside of us). Furthermore, behind such scourging pain that addictions cause, is a brain and nervous system that learns how to cope with trauma and emotional distress through substances and compulsive behaviours that illicit dopamine in search of euphoria rather than a spirituality-based approach to healing and coming to terms with a human reality of intensified distress and anxieties in a more human way.
While the macrocosm of society’s collective spiritual, mental, and social disintegration into consumeristic addiction is captured by both western social science and the emotionally aware spirituality of the modern Christian mystics—one only has to be familiar with the late spiritual giant Henri Nouwen’s writings and Brene Brown’s recent research into the science of human nature to realize the convergence (see Brown’s foreword to Nouwen’s Love Henri: Letters on the Spiritual Life )—the microcosm of addiction portrayed in individuals’ lives who spiral out of control into unmanageability and chaos is captured anonymously in the stories and pain of those who have entered into recovery or the “rooms” of the Great “AA” communities which have emerged to support and assist addicts whose lives became unmanageable through substance abuse of many kinds, including process addictions like sex, gambling, shopping, social media, and gaming, for instance.
Defining the level of addiction between a person of relatively good mental health and social functioning who shops too much on Amazon, for instance, and that whose lives spiral out of control into compulsive behaviours like sex addiction or liver-failing alcoholism, for instance, is readily observable. The former perhaps has an addiction to consumeristic binging as a way to cope with the stress that life may bring, calling it self-care or treating oneself to a self-soothing luxury. While the latter, having perhaps dealt with childhood trauma and the parental discouragement of being vulnerable (i.e. “sharing feelings”), use substances as a way of coping with daily life, vs. a way to casually maintain a sense of value or self-love.
Regardless of the case, what we need is a trauma and addiction informed Christianity that, quite frankly, is not oblivious to brain science, human vulnerability, deep spirituality, and the need for meaningful belonging. Instead, Christianity in the west has opted for the “Ye Olde” moral crusading, religious scapegoating, and the “pristine”— above reproach attitude— of a quasi-church fuelled by ideological toxicity, moral platitudes, promises of individual wealth and literalist polemics. Unfortunately, these various “brands” of Christianity have come to replace the substantial and merciful Christ of faith who identifies with the mentally ill, the disenfranchised and the stigmatized—visible or hidden, impoverished or provided for.
But Dietrich Bonhoeffer reminds us of the crucified God who “is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings. God marches right in. He chooses people as his instruments and performs his wonders where one would least expect them. God is near to lowliness; he loves the lost, the neglected, the unseemly, the excluded, the weak and broken.”
Addiction, when placed in the context of psychosocial trauma, demands not a rigidly moralistic response of judgement, stand-offish-ness or turning a blind eye, but a response of merciful community outpouring for the deeply wounded soul and traumatized brain looking for a steady supply of dopamine to numb the pain of shame, resentments, and self-hatred from years of childhood trauma and the stigmatization of society.
Bonhoeffer, as he often does, speaks to us today with prophetic relevance. Echoing Carl Jung and his work on the Shadow Self, he states: “Nothing that we despise in other [people] is inherently absent from ourselves. We must learn to regard people less in light of what they do or omit to do, and more in light of what they suffer.
Jung believed the shadow self to be the unconscious dark side of the personality. According to him the shadow self is prone to psychological projection, in which a unconscious personal inferiority is recognized as a perceived moral deficiency in someone else.
Referring to Jesus’s teaching on removing the log in our own eye before brushing away the sawdust in someone else’s, Bonhoeffer reminds us that:
“Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others, we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.”
Elaine Heath, in her book The Mystic Way of Evangelism, takes a fresh look at the way God views and responds to human beings and what we call “sin.” Heath casts the character, Julian of Norwich, in her revitalized story of human sin and redemption. Speaking of Julian, Heath writes: “she locates sin in the context of wounds, offering a therapeutic vision of redemption.” Julian’s approach captures the heart of the gospel, where God looks upon the traumatized addict with wisdom and a Father-like heart. In Julian’s therapeutic redemption, God looks upon human beings “with pity and not with blame.” He does so because He can see the “original wounds” behind humanity’s sin and suffering—wounds that He wants to heal so deeply, that God is willing to be “crushed” so His children can have everlasting peace (Isaiah 53:5).
Heath attributes the deterioration of Christian mission, in our case, how we view and respond to trauma and addiction, to the cultural accommodation in the Church. Instead of living a life of faithful discipleship and self-giving love and mercy, Christians have allowed “consumerism, competitiveness, and individualism” to invade their lives and supplant a spirituality of mercy.
Thankfully, we have voices like Bonhoeffer and Richard Rohr who confront us in our cultural accommodation. Rohr writes in Breathing Under Water,
“What humiliated and wounded addict cannot look on the image of the crucified Jesus and see himself or herself? Who would not rush toward surrender and communion with such a crucified God, who against all expectations, shares in our powerlessness, our failure, and our indignity? Who would not find himself revealed, renamed, and released inside of such a God? As theologian Sebastian Moore said many years ago in a book of the same name, ‘the crucified Jesus is no stranger.’ Jesus is no stranger to history, no stranger to the soul, no stranger to any who have suffered—but a stranger to all others—even to many Christians. Jesus is more than anything else the God of all who suffer—more than any tribal god that can be encompassed in a single religion.”
Jesus is the God of the Cross—and all-embracing merciful Savior who moves according to a logic of mercy for the traumatized addict. What is the Way of Jesus? Pope Francis tells us in The Name of God Is Mercy: Jesus “doesn't reproach [addicts] for their fragility and their wounds but…treats them with the medicine of mercy.”
“Jesus moves according to a different logic,” Francis continues. “At his own risk and danger he goes up to the leper and restores him, he heals him. In so doing, he shows us a new horizon, the logic of God who is love, a God who desires the salvation of all [people]. Jesus touched the leper and brought him back into the community. He didn't sit down at a desk and study the situation, he didn't consult the experts for pros an cons. What really mattered to him was reaching stranded people and saving them, like the Good Shepherd who leaves the flock to save one lost sheep. Then, as today, this kind of logic and conduct can be shocking, it provokes angry mutterings from those who are only ever used to having things fit into their preconceived notions and ritual purity instead of letting themselves be surprised by reality, by a greater love or a higher standard. Jesus goes and heals and integrates the marginalized, the ones who are outside the city, the ones outside the encampment.
…In so doing he shows us the way.”
Pure brilliance. Thanks for this word, Josh.
"what we need is a trauma and addiction informed Christianity that, quite frankly, is not oblivious to brain science, human vulnerability, deep spirituality, and the need for meaningful belonging."
Preach.
Posted by: Steve | May 07, 2022 at 06:11 AM