Addiction and Manipulation: Victimhood, Agency, Sin, and Grace.

A friend contacted me about the following problem. She is related to a woman who uses her addiction aggressively to manipulate those around her. She asked what I think about this problem psychologically and theologically.

Psychologically, the woman has an addiction. Presumably, there are physical aspects to that. But she also has a psychological addiction, first to drink, more fundamentally to thinking of herself as a victim (including of those who most love her and offer help). And hence as having a right to be angry and to strike back at others (perhaps especially those who most love her and are most eager to help). She probably does not well love herself, doesn’t see herself as lovable, and hence sees those who love her as fools, especially if they let her take advantage of them, and therefore as contemptible.

Those who offer assistance and advice are her enemies, because, at the heart of her cherished victimhood is a sense of lack of agency. The one thing she can do is to hurt those who love her, and the weapon she wields is suicide. She can end it all and that will teach them! Let them live with the hurt and guilt (which, unfortunately, they are almost certain to feel) for the rest of their lives. How can a person decide to end her life? The character that defines a person has long since been emptied out by drink and fantasy victimhood and behaviors, ugly even in her own eyes, that break healthy ties to others and undermine self-respect. So the completely self-indulgent self ends up with no self worth perpetuating. There is nothing left to hold onto. What meagre shred remans offers less satisfaction than dramatically striking back through suicide. Psychological models tend to run aground here. Most of them are deterministic. Her troubles, they say, are the fault of a bad childhood, or of “society” (which, oddly enough, is spoken of as if it had agency, i.e., makes us do or think this or that, of which we are then victims).

So what do we say about all this theologically? For Christians (like my friend), the vital theological concepts are sin and grace. For grace to be operative, a person might well need to understand her own sin. And sin implies agency, free will, so the woman in question can’t go there, and those aspects of our culture that deny agency, including many in the helping professions, can’t go there. So her sin, as sin, remains unattended and unrecognized. There are many conduits of grace, but among them are the people who love us and those who, for humane reasons, want to be helpful. The nature of sin is that it does not want to be “helped.” The alcoholic does not want “help,” does not want even to recognize his or her condition, his or her “sin.” We can close ourselves off to grace: “inwardness with the door closed,” as someone called it. God sometimes breaks through extraordinary barriers – grace can reach the drunk with his face in the gutter — but the agile sinner can stave it off until it is too late.

Doesn’t Fit Our List

I was sending a proposal to academic publishers and discovered that the current language of rejection is, “doesn’t fit our list.” Can’t argue with that. An editor from one of the most distinguished wrote: “This is a wonderful project, and I enjoyed reading and thinking with your proposal.” Ooh-kay …

Abigail has sometimes received even more striking praise in letters of rejection, one saying, “I hope God doesn’t strike me dead for turning this down.” I have wondered if she should have written back, threatening divine retribution. I suppose calling down infestations and plagues has gone out of style.

Nico’s Wisdom

My favorite pizza place is closed. It still has a website, but no information about why it is closed and for how long. I found a nearby place called “Nico’s.” As I waited for my food, I looked the many photos covering the wide expanse of one wall. They appeared to be family members, mainly daughters, one of whom was at work in the kitchen. Near where you put in your order was a plaque: “I have my doubts about people with million dollar plans/ And a minimum wage work ethic.” You tell ‘em, Nico!

High Middle Ages and Happiness

There was a historical period known as the High Middle Ages — a fitting term for the stage of life at which Abigail and I found one another.  I hoped we would have at least ten good years together before the hazards of life caught up with us.  As of January 20, it has been twenty-two years.  Recently, she reported – not just to me but to her acupuncturist and her favorite horse – that she was “happy.”  For her, it was an embarrassing confession.  Scholars and intellectuals NEVER say they are happy.  They are too smart and sophisticated for that.  And too deep.  Weighty thinkers are supposed to be full of existential dread and infinite angst.  She reports that, because her European mother was “happy” as a child, she was thought to be not too bright.  Charles de Gaulle was once asked by a reporter, “Are you happy?”  “Are you nuts?” the French leader responded.  (It sounded better in French.)  But my profound, brilliant, cosmopolitan wife reports herself as “happy.”  I was pleased for her, of course, but even more for what it seemed to say about me.  Although I am a rather lumpish husband, notorious for having been a poor date, who takes her nowhere and does nothing, and yet – thank God! – she is “happy.”  My Dad advised me way back when, “Make her happy and you’ll be happy.”  Thank you, Dad.

Alasdair MacIntyre RIP

My friend, Alasdair MacIntyre, died this year. I call him my friend, although our paths crossed only intermittently. I first met him, when he was speaking in Boulder. “I may be a member of the Moral Majority,” he told me. Well, I was too, in a similarly modulated way. Later, when After Virtue appeared on the cover of TIME magazine, I asked him whether he had been prepared for the celebrity. “Not at all,” he said, “not in the least.” But he took it in stride and it served him and his world audience well.

Alasdair owed me nothing. We had never been colleagues or in any other special relationship. Nevertheless, he offered a generous endorsement whenever I asked for it. A few years ago, as he was growing older, lest I leave something important unsaid, I send him a note thanking him for his many kindnesses.

He wrote back that he owed the greater debt to me. For what? For having shared my God experience with him. Though defending one set of philosophical battlements after another over the years, he came, before the end, to have an open soul. God bless him!

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?

I have been behind – or barely keeping up – on several important fronts. Here is the brief explanation I sent a friend some weeks ago, shortly after Abigail broke a hip, minutes before we were to present papers at the NE AAR:

I have been overwhelmed since the first May 2 mishap. We had a second episode, after being released from Acute Rehab, when, while at home doing rehab with occasional helpers, Abigail’s was extremely weak. They measured her blood pressure: 60/40! I have never heard of so low a blood pressure. There was another drama, which I will spare you, that delayed our calling 911, but when we did, they could barely believe that she was sitting up, able to talk to them. They immediately put in two pints of blood and another pint a day or two later. They were not sure of the source of the bleeding but it turned out to be a bleeding ulcer. They cauterized it. That didn’t quite work, so they did it again. She is now at home and has resumed rehab exercises that may last for many weeks. For me, the impact has been as much emotional as well as being somewhat run ragged. When I fell in love, I was aware that I had a new vulnerability. I have learned to live alone – after a divorce, that can be a relief – but, having found my true love, it would be immeasurably harder to go on alone. That concern has taken the stuffing out of me.

As I now reflect on events, I recall Abigail’s asking the nurses, in a stream of medical queries, “tell me, why do bad things happen to good people?” They smiled and shook their heads. Years ago, she had asked her friend, the Jewish philosopher Michael Wyschogrod. His answer: “Our people on working on it and hope to have an answer soon.” Although, in God: An Autobiography and in Radically Personal, I find clues, this is and remains the unanswerable question.

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Explore more reflections in God: An Autobiography and Radically Personal

Today Is Tomorrow: A Dream About Divine Purpose | Jerry Martin’s Daybook

Telling God’s Story, One Entry at a Time

Reflections from Jerry’s Daybook and Episode 236 of God: An Autobiography, The Podcast

Today is Tomorrow

“I want you to tell My story.”

When Jerry L. Martin first heard God speak, he didn’t believe in God. He was a philosopher, a lifelong agnostic. And yet, the voice that came to him was unmistakable. 

As Jerry describes in Episode 236 of God: An Autobiography, The Podcast, God asks for something more intimate than a retelling of ancient scripture. He asks for a life lived in dialogue with the divine.

That calling continues today, not just in Jerry’s books and podcast recordings, but in the quiet insights he captures in his Daybook. 

In the entry below, Jerry recounts a dream that unexpectedly opens into spiritual insight. It’s a dream about timing, meaning, and what it might mean to live each day paying attention to God.

Today is Tomorrow

Daybook Entry: “Today Is Tomorrow”

I had the following dream. Some people were hosting a group to discuss the God book with me. As we drove to their house, we noticed some neighbors who were coming to join the meeting. To my surprise (actually, shock), when Abigail and I arrived, there was a whole crowd there, lined up in rows on lawn chairs in the front yard. They were facing a porch to be used as a speaking platform.

I had not planned to give a speech, and had nothing prepared, but I said to Abigail, “I think I had better get up there and give a talk.”
“Well, YE-AH!” she replied.

So I got up on the porch and looked at the crowd. I said, “SOMEBODY has done a great job of getting this crowd together,” and I saw a guy toward the back beam at the compliment. Chatting for a moment with someone in the front row, I said apropos of I know not what, “Today is tomorrow.” And then I said, “That wouldn’t be a bad name for a speech.” So I said to the crowd, “I did not have a speech prepared but talking with this person up front, I realized that ‘Today is tomorrow.’”

I am not usually glib but this time I launched on an elaborated discussion of the ways in which today prepares for tomorrow—enacts it in advance, you might say—and what happens tomorrow is that today’s preparation plays out. And today is, in fact, every tomorrow, and so on in that vein.

“This isn’t bad,” I thought, “though it is a lot like a Hallmark card version of a lifemanship presentation.” Then the scene faded.

Superficial or not, I was probably onto something. I have long felt that I should live every day as if the sum of my life as a whole depended on what I do now and here. My thought is not so much that what you do today sets the terms of what you are able to do tomorrow, though that is true. But my thought is more about the meaning of life, as if the highest ideal I am able to live right now casts a meaning over the whole of my life. Whether that is wisdom or just a facsimile of it, I can’t know. I occupy the thought, and can’t see over its rim. Maybe you can.

God: An Autobiography Book And Podcast

Listen to the Episode That Inspired This Post

In Episode 236, Jerry shares the moment God asked him to “tell My story,” and how we each have a part to play in that story, if we’re willing to listen.

🎧 Listen now or start from Episode 1 to hear the full journey.