“Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” — John 20:25 (KJV)

Upon hearing the news of Christ’s resurrection, Thomas’s mind immediately goes to what he can see, to what he can touch, and most importantly, to the most wounded parts of Jesus. This is not a coincidence. Thomas was particularly interested in the most human part of Jesus Christ, the thing that makes him more fully human than any act of generosity or kindness He had displayed throughout His ministry: his suffering. This was also the part that he most struggled with.

It’s interesting, then, how in our own sufferings in this modern age, there is a crisis brewing in the Western spiritual landscape. Scientific materialism created a vacancy, and everyone stranded in it is looking left and right for something to fill it. Some turn to psychedelics, or fly thousands of miles for an Ayahuasca ceremony. Some go east to the Hindu pantheon. Some invent a new branch of spirituality and call it “New Age.” And those who deem themselves too erudite and too rational for crystals have a whole shelf of spirituality without God: Sam Harris’s Waking Up, Stephen Batchelor’s Confession of a Buddhist Atheist, or Rupert Spira’s The Nature of Consciousness. It is a vast array of attempts to fill the void, and nearly all of them have one thing in common with Thomas on the evening of the resurrection. They would really rather not deal with the wounds.

In my own spiritual and mental health journey, these hard-lined rationalistic approaches to the mind were very appealing. I didn’t have evidence for God, so to a brain that was drenched in scientific empiricism, I struggled with the simple idea of “believing in Jesus” and instead opted for trying mindfulness exercises, changing my thoughts, and even flirting with the idea that there was no individual “self” who was doing these things, just an abstract process running in line with reality.

In fact, the simple and beautiful austerity of something like Zen felt like a breath of fresh air in the mass of confusion that was the spiritual marketplace in a world after Nietzsche boldly pronounced, “God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves…?”

Well, Nietzsche, that was a great question. The human soul will really go in any and all directions in order to find freedom and fulfillment.

“How shall we console ourselves?” is the question that outlived every answer Nietzsche gave to it. If there truly is no God, then what is the purpose of existence? How are we to cope with all the suffering of life? In the face of an empty universe, Nietzsche was truly, genuinely terrified over the prospect of nihilism. So he, too, attempted to find some kind of spiritual solution. Humans, when confronted by the reality of suffering in this very life, will do anything to overcome it.

When one can see the immediate problem leftover by the apparent lack of God, it makes sense for Western society to begin to converge on that problem, the problem of suffering. Well, what do you know? There’s an entire spiritual system whose opening line is “Life has suffering”.

It makes perfect sense, then, and can almost be seen as an inevitability, that there has been a growing attraction towards Buddhism from the West for the last several decades. In an ironic move of the inherently Abrahamic call for adventure, pilgrimage, and conquest of the unknown, the current of suffering carries Western seekers into the arms of Buddhist philosophy.

But hold on. It’s all with one catch. They’re doing it all from the lens of the myriad of postulates that first led them into secular philosophy.

So from here, we can see the past several decades of Western exploration into Buddhism and Eastern philosophy like radical non-duality. I will qualify something before we continue: True non-duality is a helpful thing to understand. Advaita Vedanta and especially the Western understanding of it, however, is not true non-duality, and is actually very dualistic. To further clarify: This article is not a critique against Buddhism, which is a tradition deeply embedded in Eastern societies; it is a critique against the Western secularist attempt to import that tradition stripped of its dignities out of Eastern society. The same goes towards the broader tradition of Hinduism.

All the years of Western exploration into eastern spiritual philosophy and two individuals with a level of popularity have risen up. The first is Sam Harris, who is a champion for Secular Buddhism, and the second is Rupert Spira, a leading voice in the western sphere of Advaita Vedanta.

First, we must look at Sam Harris. Sam is a public intellectual known for his strong appeals for atheism, especially in combination with the pragmatic wisdom of his own secularized version of Buddhist traditions. He is the author of several serious books on this topic, including The End of Faith, Free Will, and Waking Up. Borrowing the phenomenological language of the Buddha, he has taught a very large audience that the one thing they are most certain of, their own existence as a person, is a trick of the brain. That is the idea we need to look at.

One of Sam’s most prominent ideas is on the concept of the self. Sam says, “The feeling that we call ‘I’ is an illusion.” Sam gets this idea from the Buddhist concept of anatta, which translates literally to either not-self or no-self, depending on who you ask. This is an important distinction: Not-self would claim that objects arising in experiencing are not to be clung to as our entire existence, while no-self would be claiming that there is both no inherent self and nothing arising has an inherent self. Based on SN 44.10, the Ānanda Sutta, where the Buddha is asked explicitly if there is a self and if there is not a self and he remains silent when responding to both, it would be immediately and obviously erroneous in accordance with Buddhist scriptures to claim there is no self whatsoever.

However, this is besides the point, because Sam may be able to handwave this by claiming he did not say there is no self, just that it is an illusion. Why is it an illusion? In essence, Sam argues that the self is illusory because it is made up of smaller, changing parts without a single leading part that is there directing everything.

Remind you of anything? Greek philosophers came up with the idea of “the Ship of Theseus” in the late 1st century – and one of the most profound take aways is never “the ship doesn’t exist” or “the ship is illusory”, it’s much simpler: The ship is always the ship, and the ship also has parts that change over time. This, not solely the idea that the ship is illusory, is what genuine, Christ-like non-duality is. Both/and, not either/or. To say it simply: just because something can be abstracted down doesn’t mean it’s non-abstracted form is illusory. That is what is called a reductive fallacy, and when applied to humans: mereological nihilism.

So what’s the big deal anyway? Well, the problem with claiming that the self is an illusion is that it makes it secondary. If one thing is more inherently important or real than another thing, what is this, if not duality? If only consciousness is real, and I am an illusion, and you are an illusion, then the soteriological aim of reality at best is suffering and the end of suffering for every human on the planet. If the ending of suffering was all that mattered for existence, which would be quite bleak, then wouldn’t the best avenue for all of us be to end existence itself? Ok, let’s go with that. But if even one person says they want more out of life than simply the end of suffering, you no longer get permission! What you’ll find, in fact, is that many billions of people are motivated by much more than just not suffering. They want to live, experience the joys and happinesses of life, to really enjoy what is here! To many, the aim of life is not simply to avoid suffering, but to live.

And to be clear, this was not what the Buddha taught either. The Buddha taught dukkha, the fact of suffering in life, but he also taught sukkha, the fact of joy in life. He never says nearly as much about sukkha as he does dukkha, because admittedly, he wanted to focus on getting rid of suffering! That’s not a bad thing. But it is not complete.

In Christianity, we are taught one very important thing:

“And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness… So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.” — Genesis 1:26–27 (KJV)

The self is not illusory. You are not illusory, you are real, and even more than that, you are a Child of the Most High, truly loved, cared for, delighted in, and seen. Who am I? I am Caleb. Who are you? You are you. Our identity is freely given, we do not have to do a single thing to prop it up. We are not machines or processes of abstraction. We are human beings, loved and cared for by an intelligent Other. God is not just the Ground of Being, which is what someone like Sam may call consciousness. That component of God is important! But incomplete. God has a Face, just like you have one. And that face is Jesus Christ. Both/and. Transcendent and immanent. Non-dual.

Next, let’s look at Mr. Rupert Spira. Spira is a contemporary British spiritual teacher focusing on Advaita Vedanta and radical “non-duality”. His teaching primarily centers around the idea that consciousness itself is the most ultimate and true reality, while matter and material are at best secondary to experience or even totally unreal.

Spira says in one place, “There are no objects in experience; there only seem to be.”

In another very dualistic statement, he states “consciousness or presence is all that is real.”

Notice how Spira isn’t offering an idea or philosophical argument, he’s offering a posture. If someone reads the above statements without critical thinking applied, they may believe him! He states them so matter-of-factly, when in fact he’s doing little more than repeating white-hot Neo-Platonism the West already threw out years ago dressed in the garb of Eastern spirituality. Material denying spiritual philosophies (read: dualistic philosophies) have been a part of the Western spiritual and philosophical sphere for ages. They’re nothing new, nothing special, and lead to suffering and misery (and maybe that’s why so many teachers of these philosophies end up going through major mental health issues, peace be upon them). Just because you can abstract something out doesn’t make it illusory, secondary, or not real.

Early Christian thinkers such as Justin Martyr and St. Augustine engaged deeply with similarly Platonic thought before embracing Christianity, recognizing limitations in these philosophical systems that they saw were answered more fully in Christ. Even more modern thinkers and Christian mystics such as Evelyn Underhill came to understand the immaturity of such a view and also later came to understand the full embodiment of Christ.

Reality is not a flat consciousness soup. Reality is ordered and designed towards something, towards Someone. Spirit and material are inherently intertwined and both are created very good. Freedom and fulfillment are two different things. In Christ, we do not deny the elements of truth lending themself towards freedom from clinging in traditions like Buddhism. We do, however, say that freedom is not the same as fulfillment. Fulfillment is found in Jesus Christ alone. True freedom is only found in the context of being free to move towards fulfillment, and thus, as well, true freedom is found solely in Jesus Christ alone.

Our fulfillment is not found in things, or achievements, or pleasure. It is mere arithmetic to see that these things are eventually ran down in terms of diminishing returns and we will eventually no longer find happiness in them. Happiness is also not found in not being in bondage to anything, which is a fallacy misunderstood by those well-versed in Eastern spirituality. That is simply peace. Peace alone is not the fullness of joy, it is simply peace. Joy is the deep emotional response to being fully alive and connected to our place, purpose, and relationships within the greater reality of Life and Love itself.

“These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” — John 15:11 (KJV)

“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” — John 10:10 (KJV)

Thomas the Apostle Shows the Necessity of Embodiment

The final thing to understand here is that the systems presented by Harris and Spira here are not just bad, antiquated metaphysics. They’re bad psychology.

We are physical beings, with physical bodies, with past traumas, with moral identities, living in communal settings. In this life we will face loss, mourning, and deep grief. These things cannot be escaped simply by pretending that they are not real or that they are secondary things. They are primary things through which we are capable of being gravely injured – so it makes sense that people would like to try to escape them. It makes sense that a person who is deeply and terribly traumatized may find it best to escape their trauma by trying to convince themselves that it’s not real or not important or secondary.

The problem is, that doesn’t work.

Is there anyone more similar to this idea of escapism than Thomas the Apostle?

“Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellowdisciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him.” — John 11:16 (KJV)

When confronted with the brutality of the death of Lazarus, Thomas’s response is not to mourn, and it is not to hope for his resurrection, which he should have well known was in the power of Jesus Christ by that time. His response was to call for further death to join Lazarus. Note that in just the verse before, Jesus says he has come to give Lazarus life.

It’s important to understand that Thomas the Apostle loved Jesus very deeply. He was committed to Him, just like the other disciples were. The problem is not in a lack of love for Jesus, or that Thomas was secretly harboring intentionally incorrect ideas about His ministry. The problem was a lot more simple: Thomas had not yet understood and truly believed in the incarnational nature of Jesus Christ and His victory over death.

This is more than reflected in his own disbelief over the resurrection of Christ:

“The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the Lord. But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” — John 20:25 (KJV)

What’s interesting to see here is that Thomas is not just doubting the resurrection itself. Thomas is even doubting the wounds of Jesus Christ. That is not an accident or coincidence. Just the same as many of these spiritual philosophies wish to ignore or doubt the wounds of our past, Thomas is doubting the wounds of Christ, and Christ’s response is very serious.

“Then Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and look at My hands. Reach out your hand and put it into My side. Stop doubting and believe.”” — John 20:27 (BSB)

In this moment, Jesus commands Thomas to stop his doubt over the physical resurrection, over the wounds of Christ. I like to imagine that in this moment, Thomas had to reconcile with his own wounds that he was likely denying as well. Jesus is making two things very clear here: His wounds are very real, and so is His redemption of those wounds.

There’s a reason why Jesus still had his marks upon resurrection. It’s to show us that our previous pains and sufferings are not there to pretend they never happened, to cover up, to hide, to ignore. They’re actually what God will use to glorify us. In their healing, they serve as signs of grace that have been transformed through Love. Scripture shows us that healing requires brutal honesty and total embodiment. David is shown to be soaking his bed in tears, Jesus is shown to be in anguish to the point of sweating blood, Hannah is shown to be in such despair that she cannot eat.

In Christianity, we are embraced as complete and embodied beings. The Incarnation of Christ shows us that our physical bodies, our pains and our traumas, our emotional and mental wellbeing are not secondary to a nebulous spiritual realm. God loves all of us and wants all of us to be brought fully into Love, with nothing left behind. This is summed up with Thomas’s response to the revelation of Christ’s glory:

“Thomas replied, “My Lord and my God!”” — John 20:28 (BSB)

The wording here is very intentional. Thomas does not just say “My God!” and he does not just say “My Lord!”. He says “My Lord and my God!”. Lord denotes something different than God. Lord has to do with acknowledging someone as one’s Earthly master. This is an acknowledgement of the immanence of Christ. The word God, on the other hand, denotes transcendence. Our God is the God who is both fully transcendent (spiritual) as well as fully immanent (material). Non-dual. Both/and.

We must not miss this essential truth: Christ does indeed call us to die. But He does not call us to death for death’s sake. He calls us to die so that we may truly live. And what is this life to which He calls us? It is nothing less than the complete surrender of ourselves to Love Himself, made possible by grace, that we might share in His very life. For to live is not merely to exist, but to participate in the Love from which all existence springs. That is Life.

What Now?

G.K. Chesterton, early 20th century Christian thinker and journalist, spent his youth in the exact kind of jungle we’ve been walking through. In his Autobiography he describes a period at art school where he nearly lost his mind to it. He wrestled with the solipsism that followed from Impressionism, the idea that if all we have is sense impressions then maybe nothing exists outside the mind. He wrestled with the pessimism of Schopenhauer, who taught that existence is suffering and the only answer is to extinguish the will. He wrestled with Nietzsche’s will to power, with the scientific determinism that said man is a machine, with the decadence of Wilde and the 1890s, and with the spiritualism and Theosophy that were the New Age of his day. He even watched the rise of Christian Science, which taught that matter and sickness were illusions of “mortal mind,” which probably sounds very familiar at this point. Chesterton came out the far side of all of this by first aligning more closely with Christian philosophy, and then finally converting to Christianity. One thing he had to say about the erudite jungle of ideas of his age was this:

“It is always simple to fall; there are an infinity of angles at which one falls, only one at which one stands. […] But to have avoided them all has been one whirling adventure; and in my vision the heavenly chariot flies thundering through the ages, the dull heresies sprawling and prostrate, the wild truth reeling but erect.”

There will always be a myriad of philosophies competing with the fullness of truth that is Christianity. Christians should not shy away from these, nor should they be afraid. The faith that produced Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, Pascal, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, and Lewis has never once needed to be protected from an argument. In fact, we should look back at Christian history with joy, happy to see the pillar of truth standing tall and continuing to march boldly forward like a lion. Jesus once said “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” As I am pulled deeper into my walk with God, it no longer confuses me how a Person can literally be the truth.

A philosophy that can account for both our hunger for transcendence and the persistent reality of our embodiment, for both our need to surrender the self and our need to remain fully persons, cannot be just another dead system of ideas and abstractions. If it is going to speak truthfully about both what it means to be fully human and what transcends humanity, then it has to be grounded in something that is itself alive. It has to become a living philosophy, and a living philosophy, followed all the way to its source, must ultimately collapse into a Person. That person is Jesus Christ.