Well, that would be rather inconvenient, wouldn’t it?

Or would it? When I think about my life, this is an area that I had no difficulty subscribing to when I was in my early twenties. I’m what you’d call a “firm believer.”

When I got sober, there was a choice about whether or not I wanted to do what was suggested to me. I did what was suggested to me. Of some consequence, it’s been nearly twelve years and I can still refer to back then as “when I got sober.”

But what if it wasn’t true? It’s an interesting thing to consider.

Let me first begin by considering how my belief would have been in vain, yet, would seem to have achieved a great effect nonetheless.

Could that be possible? At face value, I’m inclined to think that it could be possible. I’ve attributed my ability to not drink and not use drugs to this power, which I’ve learned to call God. For the record, I’m not particularly religious, but I do hold many of the same values and, likely, the same beliefs as someone who would consider themselves religious. I just haven’t been to a church in a while. I did grow up in one, and I frankly have a longing to return to one. I miss the comfort of religion. We’ve identified that much bias, at least.

I’ve prayed most days for those eleven-and-some-odd years. Early on in my sobriety, my prayers were largely centered around God keeping me sober. I was encouraged to pray, asking God to relieve me of the obsession to drink and use drugs.

This was early on and I took to it with vigor. The effect this seemed to have, was that I no longer obsessed with drugs and alcohol. This is a thing commonly heard in the circles I participate in. Is it possible that the ‘group therapy’ effect of twelve-step meetings coupled with working with a twelve-step sponsor was actually what relieved me of this obsession to drink and use drugs? Sure.

It’s even possible that it was something else altogether.

One exercise I did in my third year-ish of sobriety, was to write responses to the questions, “If God is everything, what are you afraid of?” and, “If God is nothing, what are you afraid of?” This writing exercise was conveniently preceded by an admittance that I was powerless over alcohol and drugs—that there was nothing I could do to control my addiction to these things. I needed something outside of myself.

I recall the exercise proving worthwhile, though I don’t recall the answers I provided. I imagine the latter (most relevant here) spoke to my utter fucked-ness because of my own admittance that I couldn’t stay sober (or manage my life) on my own. I needed God. So, if there was no God, I’m screwed.

My interest in riffing on this notion today is less concerned with science than philosophy. The belief that I’ve developed over the years around God and God taking care of me has been, if nothing else, very convenient. It hasn’t done much to hurt or disable me in my life, to my knowledge. I suppose I can’t know whether there is or there isn’t a God. I can point to experiences that I’ve had (like the obsession to drink being removed) that strongly suggest there is something to this (although, it could have been the power of self-affirmation!).

So, what does that then say about the power of belief?

Maybe belief is all that was required for me. Maybe belief is more powerful than I’ve given it credit for.

Maybe it doesn’t matter all that much whether God exists or doesn’t exist. And I suppose God is somewhat subjective because of the inability to prove God’s existence.

I’ve long believed that God is beyond definition. I learned this pretty early on (before the writing exercise mentioned above). It was suggested to me that if I define God, I’ll thereby put limitations on it and on its power. Earlier on still I was told that my God could be whatever I wanted it to be.

This all suggests that belief in something is more important than belief in what’s real or actual. But what I’ve believed in has worked out for me—it’s continuously aligned over the years without contradiction.

Part of my belief has been that this thing, God, has the perfect plan for me and is ultimately in control of everything. A sort of Spinozian determinism but with a God that’s not disinterested. When it comes to bigger questions of why God would drop the roof of a church on a church full of worshippers,¹ I’ve had to concede that I just don’t understand God and how God works. In my mind, I’ve, at moments of consideration such as those, thought that bad things have to happen too—that there’s purpose in everything. I’ve never held with people who believed that God doesn’t impose cruelty on people. While I don’t like to think that God is indifferent to us, I do believe that bad things have to happen too. But it’s easier for me to consider God as having a more comprehensive and perfect perspective on things, where I’m mired by a perspective biased by the notions of good and evil.

In this way, religion has its limitations. Any Christian-based religion and most others I’m aware of other than perhaps Buddhism, believe in good and evil. In the absence of that belief, church roofs fall on people because they fall on people. People lose their houses to foreclosure because they lose their houses to foreclosure. Not because God is cruel or benevolent.

So, what does that have to do with my perfect plan?

It tells me that nothing is off-limits. That anything can still happen, perfect plan notwithstanding.

So, then what’s the benefit of the perfect plan? I imagine the benefit is that I believe it’s all purposeful, even when I can’t possibly imagine how it could ever be such.

I keep turning to this thing for guidance. I follow what I believe is intuition when it’s received. I do my best to be a good person and seek to always grow and do better. I enjoy the ride, best I can.

1. Nod to Hannibal Lecter. ↩︎