Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give
other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

~Marianne Williamson

I like this quote; it's very poetic. That’s not what I like about it though, since I don’t enjoy most poetry. I like this quote because it’s one of those sappy, inspirational quotes that begs for mutilation, which I am happy to provide. Really, I mean no disrespect to the author, or anyone getting warm fuzzies from reading her quote, but the premise is flawed at the most basic level and then a few decent ideas get thrown in the mix on top for a cheap finish.

From a religious standpoint, however, I have an issue with it for more than just its lack of logic. The illogical premise of the poem by itself should render the quote nonsense, but the way it’s twisted with seemingly wholesome, motivational Christian sentiment makes it downright dangerous. The underlying fallacy is a sinister one because it is shrouded in more warm fuzzies than a Johnson & Johnson cotton swab factory. After all, who didn’t find it inspirational when film writers included in the script for Akeelah and the Bee?

First, though, think about the opening line: Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Just think about it for two minutes and define for yourself what makes you afraid of anything. To find that root of your fear, it might help to consider what, if it were changed, could eliminate that fear.

The bottom line is: our deepest fear is inadequacy. A fear of inadequacy is at the root of every fear, without exception; it underlies any phobia you can think of. Seriously, is it even possible for you to be afraid of something if you feel competent to handle it? Without being at all presumptuous, I think I can say that you can’t find a single instance where you were afraid of something without feeling inadequate in some way. The fear of inadequacy in coping with any given situation is fundamental to every fear, making it our deepest fear.

If we fear being powerful beyond measure, it is because we fear being inadequate to control our own strength. If we are afraid of our light, it is because we feel inadequate to know how to use it. If we are afraid to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented or fabulous, it is because we doubt our ability to manage it. If we are afraid of anything positive, it is just as much because there is an underlying inadequacy as when we fear failure. There is never a need to fear unless one feels an inadequacy of some sort.

So what could remove your fear? Anything you think of that even theoretically could remove the fear is probably something to compensate for an inadequacy: a gun to protect against those more powerful than you are physically, a photographic memory to retain everything you studied for a test, social skills to keep you from making enemies among those envious of your abilities…the list goes on. I don’t know what world Marianne Williamson lives in, but on Planet Earth, fear means being filled with apprehension, intimidated by something you don’t have the ability to control. Inadequacy.

This, I think, is why the Bible says "Perfect love casts out all fear..." and "God is love." Therefore God, being omnipotent and without any inadequacies, is the only One who can displace fear. While He, love personified, lives in our hearts, His strength defies our inadequacies.

Ms. Williamson says that “We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone.”  She goes on to say that this glory, “our own light,” then liberates ourselves and others from our fear.

If God, being love, is what casts out all fear, there is something amiss in the notion that this “glory of God…is not just in some; it is in everyone.” Does God—His perfect love—abide in everyone? Or is she saying there is something God-like in everyone, the innate compensation for any inadequacy, which means we have no inadequacy to fear? I hope I don’t have to point out the New Age leanings of this idea.

The sentiment certainly tends toward some feel-good, motivational, “the light is within you” philosophy; but the premise is bogus because we are inadequate. We are human, not divine. We are weak, lacking, insufficient in more aspects than most of us want to admit, and therefore we fear. To pretend that we have no fear of inadequacy is a farce, and more likely to get us into dangerous or embarrassing situations than actually empower us.

I’m not preaching defeatism, don’t misunderstand. We can conquer fear, but not through “our own light.” When Jesus said, “In your weakness, My strength is made perfect,” He made a statement that may not sound as appealing as “Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure,” but it contains a lot more truth and reality.

There isn’t anything wrong with fearing our inadequacy because we are, in fact, weak. The real inspirational, motivational actuality, though, is that we don’t have to be crippled by it if we allow Christ to compensate for our inadequacies.

Perfect love casts out all fear…and God is love.

Danger Or Rescue

A fat, little frog squatted on the asphalt, enjoying the summer night. There was nothing to disrupt his evening hop across the countryside except the occasional lowing of cattle grazing in the field on the other side of those odd, evenly spaced iron rails that dissected the asphalt trail the fat, little frog was traveling. It was such a peaceful evening that he almost forgot to break the stillness with croaking calls to other frogs that might be taking their evening jaunts.

From the distant lengths of the iron rails, a rattling rumble came tumbling into the fat little frog’s quiet evening. He held tightly to his spot on the asphalt as the rumbling intensified, and in a moment a massive, thunderous machine pounded past him, just 10 feet away, in an eternal procession. The vibrations reverberated in the poor creatures lungs, but couldn’t make the fat little frog quake any more than he already was from sheer fright. If he could think, he was probably wondering if he would live long enough to hatch a plan of escape from the monster machine.

Alas, his evening took a worse turn, if that were possible. Another metal machine with glaring, blinding lights in front was approaching on the asphalt, hissing as it ground to a stop. The fat, little frog blinked as a living creature many times his size left the machine and—horror of horrors—walked toward him. It seemed intent on driving him from his little refuge on the asphalt where he still had not concocted an escape plan, so, in desperation, he fled before the oncoming feet of the advancing creature.

As the fat, little frog disappeared into the grass on the side of the asphalt road, I watched the train blast off into the night; the cross arms blinked goodbye as I strolled back to the car. Listening to the croaking in the grass while I drove across the spot recently vacated by a particular fat, little frog as he had fled before my prodding, I could nearly have imagined his beady eyes bulging from the excitement of his recent escape as he regaled his fellow frogs with the tale of his night of terror.

It amused me that the fat, little frog couldn’t tell danger from rescue. For all he knew, I was just as dangerous as the thunderous train and the hissing, glaring car—in fact, I must have been more frightful, since he held his ground in the presence of those monsters. In his mind, he had narrowly escaped death; and he had. His frantic hopping away from those approaching feet took him out of the path of all the cars waiting to pile over the railroad tracks as soon as the train rumbled into the distance once again.

Some days I feel like thundering monsters are flying by, much too close for comfort; in every other direction it seems like other monsters hiss and glare, while, worst of all, mysterious feet advance, intent on driving me off the little plot of ground I still hold as my own. You know you’ve had those days too, when the obstacles just keep mounting to dizzying heights. Do you, like me, try to pull together some solution, only to find yourself running away from yet another terror?

The amusing part is…we can’t tell danger from rescue either. The most horrifying experiences, the most terrifying of obstacles, might be our safety net from something worse—but, in our finite vision, we never even recognize it. God stands near us, directing us out of the way of pain, difficulty, or sorrow, and our hearts pound with fright because His instrumentalities are lost on our perception. Later we squeak out the tale of our narrow escape from utter ruin and breathe a sigh of relief for having survived the day.

And I think He must smile a bit sadly knowing that the peace we lost through our fear was unnecessarily sacrificed. Another day He may let the terrors fly by us again as He tries to give us faith’s vision that can perceive the difference between danger and rescue.