Reconstructing Ourselves

Deconstruction has become one of the defining intellectual disciplines of the last several decades. Born from the philosophical currents of postmodernity, deconstruction gave us a way to examine the assumptions beneath our assumptions. It offered a critical framework for taking apart ideas, systems, narratives, identities, and institutions to uncover the structures that hold them together. In marketing, technology, organizational development, and human capital, variations of this process have become almost indispensable. We deconstruct personalities to understand audiences. We deconstruct processes to find inefficiencies. We deconstruct personas to understand markets. We deconstruct our own experiences in the hope of discovering the hidden motivations, values, and beliefs that shape our decisions.

There is a value in this discipline. It has put questions into the common person’s hands that once only belonged to the likes of DaVinci, Aristotle, Aquinas, Newton, and Hegel (etc.). We know from the caliber of minds in the past that this work has value, but we often do not see the constraints that tempered the rabbit holes they might have pursued outside the moorings of their time. Metamodern thought is distinctly different from the minds of Classical Antiquity. Postmodernism is radically different than the Patristic Era. Modernity and the Enlightenment are disconnected in value, ambition, and morality. It is why we often need to take things apart before we can understand the undergirding truth. It is also why the postmodern ethic of ethnocentrically measuring all thought by our own deconstructive efforts is unadulterated hubris, rather than an academic endeavor to understand. This is where the distinction matters.

Fyodor Dostoevsky warned those who would fabricate reality in this:

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him.”

At a base level, a difference exists between deconstructing something to know its true essence and running it through that process to replace it with our own self-centric perceptions. If we really are the easiest mark of our own falsehoods, houses of cards built on foundations of sand are not places to architect a viable worldview. Context is key, but standing on the shoulders of giants is a better prospect than tearing them down so that we can assert ourselves as equals.

As postmodern thought has given way to what is increasingly described as metamodernism, the challenge to historical authorities has not disappeared. In fact, the impulse to interrogate inherited systems has been emboldened, as it has become more personal. Social, cultural, political, ideological, and spiritual questions are increasingly filtered through the experience of the individual. We are encouraged not simply to ask what is true, but rather, we ask, what is true for me? What resonates with my thoughts, feelings, and ambitions? What reflects my values? What kind of person do I want to become?

The language is projected as constructive, but it reactively frames the world according to our own wisdom. We talk about authenticity, values, purpose, integration, self-awareness, and meaningful engagement, while examining our histories and assumptions. We identify what no longer serves us and recover neglected resources. We construct a worldview that seems more coherent with the person we believe ourselves to be. In contemporary thought, this syncretic effort to shape how we see the world becomes a process of rejecting outside authority and realigning truth in light of our personal authority.

This is the danger that lurks in deconstruction. When the self becomes the architect, the foundation, and the final authority on what is true, good, beautiful, and right, the reconstruction effort is anchored in illusion. The world as it truly is becomes hidden by the delusion of self-declared reality — Abstractions become concrete, conspiracy leaves the theoretical, and we cultivate a bespoke purpose, identity, and subjective truth to relate to the world around us. We then become students of our own perspective, adding authority to our reconstruction.

As we continue the process, we deconstruct assumptions, institutions, and communities, as well as our faith, our politics, our families, and our traditions. We come full circle to the only acceptable authority across all experiences: ourselves. In this, deconstruction becomes destruction. We become a law unto ourselves. We become a force of our own will, tempered by our own desires, and validated by our own authority. We believe the lie we have asserted about ourselves, others, and the world around us, and we boldly proclaim it as truth.

When we look around at 21st-century culture, we see it everywhere: online, in print, between neighbors and political rivals, in our families, and even in our churches. Pascal’s assertion rings true, but in a different reality:

“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.”

Sadly, the religion that far too many people follow is the god of self that they have reconstructed themselves to be. They are Pharisaical in their pursuit of themselves, reinterpreting everything around them to support their devotion. They will undertake unspeakable evils against fellow man for their rights, their riches, their rationale, and their revolutions. Their syncretic worldview becomes an authoritarian regime with which they rule their surroundings, their relationships, and the ideas they interact with.

The Bespoke Savior

In the late 80s, Martin Gore wrote a song that became a major Depeche Mode hit. Personal Jesus is about how people can be a “Jesus-figure” to someone else, giving them hope, care, and love in a way that transcends traditional religious stereotypes. In the deconstruction process, building a bespoke, syncretic worldview is like becoming your own personal Jesus: a savior that looks at the world, sees what is right in your own eyes, knows what is good for your purpose, and believes in what is best for your own journey, here on the Good Ship Earth.

When every inherited belief is subject to personal interpretation, the individual self slowly shifts into a place so central that we no longer recognize the difference between our personal reality and the world as it truly is. When we reconstruct around ourselves, even the faith we profess becomes a copy of a copy; an illusion of ourselves as our own bespoke savior. We exchange what is true for our own iteration of truth. At a base level, we build an echo chamber for identity, calling, and purpose.

The idea behind reconstruction promises something better after deconstruction. We do not merely tear down; we rebuild. To understand the purpose behind the process, we have to ask some important questions. Are we reconstructing truth or ourselves? Are we trying to validate a bigger story or purpose, or are we rebuilding our world, our desires, and the meaning in our lives according to our own authority?

A growing majority of people on this quest either declare themselves as their own personal saviors or sublimate existing structures to fit their perspectives. In secular circles, the self becomes the authority of all things and subjective truth reigns supreme. In faith-professing circles, the personal Jesus becomes less the Lord who transforms us and more the figure we reinterpret, partner with, and disciple others to, as we follow a god of our own making.

As this transformation solidifies, the idea of grace becomes less the undeserved gift that confronts our self-sufficiency and more the permission structure that protects our preferred identity. Truth becomes less something we receive and submit ourselves to and more something we negotiate. Community becomes less a people who challenge and shape us and more of an echo chamber that validates our understanding of ourselves. As our new worldview synthesizes, our mission becomes less about proclaiming the truth that sets us free, and more about embodying the ambition we have architected.

This is perhaps the great spiritual temptation of our moment: creating a version of Jesus who perfectly accommodates the person we have already decided to become. Jesus becomes the revolutionary when we need revolution. He is the disruptor when we need disruption and the radical when we need radicalism. He is the compassionate critic when we need criticism and the champion of inclusion when inclusion is our highest value. Not only is He the defender of the marginalized when that is the framework through which we understand justice, but this metamodern savior oscillates between our assertions, conforming to our ideology rather than transforming us to His reality.

We can construct a remarkably compelling Christology from the pieces of Jesus we find most useful. But a Jesus assembled from our preferences is not the Jesus that Scripture reveals. At some point, if we want the truth that actually sets us free, we must allow the real Gospel to confront us, to contradict us, and to conform us to its reality. We must relinquish our autonomy and return the authority to the One who it actually sits with. We must see the world as it truly is, rather than our prescriptive version of it.

That is one of the essential differences between Christianity and self-directed spirituality. Christianity does not ultimately invite us to discover the version of ourselves that feels most authentic and then build a spiritual framework around it. It calls us to die to ourselves. That is considerably more disruptive. The Gospel does not exist to affirm the self; it is the reality of a God who speaks to our inability to save ourselves and says, “My grace is sufficient.”

We were not meant to reinterpret the Gospel to manifest our own spiritual ascension or realize a better pathway forward. Like in the Garden (utilizing our autonomy and knowledge), semantics take the form of godliness, but deny its power. We make love synonymous with affirmation, and tolerance synonymous with faithfulness. We make inclusion synonymous with discipleship, and elevate emotional safety as the highest expression of community. We pare down what is sufficient, and reconstruct it around ourselves, building a more sophisticated way to preserve the old nature in a fresh perspective.

And yet in 21st-century culture, this is why the real Gospel is so relevant and the language of transformation meaningful. The Christian life is not simply an improved version of the person who emerged from deconstruction. It is not the same self with better language, better politics, better cultural awareness, or a more refined theological vocabulary. It offers the possibility of being born again: a new creation in Christ. As Lon Solomon frequently says:

“Jesus didn’t come to make bad men good, or good men better; He came to make dead men alive.”

This is not a picture of a bespoke savior; it is a life being transformed. The goal is not the perfect reconstruction of the self. The goal is surrender of the self to Christ. Nothing that anyone can articulate, understand, assert, or accomplish can save them; only the real Savior has the power to make dead people come alive. That’s the real truth. We aren’t bad, good, or indifferent; we are dead, and the eternal life that Christ offers is a rebirth into His kingdom. Without His grace, we have no hope to be reconciled to the Almighty. That might just be the most relevant reality in a dead and dying world.

And yet, the culture edits this Gospel message into one of personal deconstruction. It tells us that personal truths usurp objective reality, for the good of our own purposes. Whether it’s a bespoke savior or a personal Jesus, the anchor is finitely held in the self, rather than infinitely restored to glory. One of the hardest things to swallow, as people who can leverage their own understanding into an amazing array of insights, is that we might not actually have the authority we think we do. The truth that sets us free is very different. It is not an assemblage of our efforts, our insights, our abilities, or our merit. It is an invitation to let go of self-provision and trust in the Almighty with all we have, all we are, and all we can be.

Uniquely, when we look back at the words of the song Personal Jesus, Johnny Cash speaks the truth in calling it one of the most evangelistic songs ever. Jesus came to be personal to you. He will deliver you. He is a forgiver. He will make you a believer. Reach out and touch the true faith, rather than deconstructing what He has done and reconstructing it around yourself.

What Johnny knew as a believer in the true Christ is that Jesus Himself knows each of us better than we know ourselves and can therefore be a better Savior than we could ever craft on our own. You want a personal Jesus, then seek the most personal one: who has numbered the hairs on your head, who knew you before the foundations of the world, knit you in your mother’s womb, and has promised to dwell within those He calls His own.

Consider My Servant Job

In the final analysis, we discover that deconstruction is a powerful tool if we dismantle the illusions that influence our lives and seek to understand what should carry that sway. More importantly, we learn that it is not our wisdom that transforms us, but the life-changing reality of what Jesus has done for us. For believers, deconstruction is often presented as a necessary journey for people asking difficult questions. While asking difficult questions is not inherently unfaithful, we are called to lean not on our own understanding in the midst of them. We are called to seek the Lord, depending on His provision rather than our own. Scripture itself contains lament, doubt, wrestling, confession, confrontation, and profound questions about God.

The question is not whether Christians should ask hard questions. The question is what authority remains when the questioning is finished. We know from Scripture that Job faced the biggest questions one can face in this world, and yet the authority of God was never replaced by his own ability to think, provide for himself, or reconstruct his kingdom after it was torn down. Even when people surrounding him encouraged him in every wrong way they could, Job kept God in the place of authority where He belonged.

Imagine if Job decided that his friends were right and he needed to turn inward and reinvent himself according to his experience. What if he diced up his own heart to scour his motivations and clean his own sin up for God’s sake? What if he took his wife’s suggestion to heart, and decided to end it all, rather than live in the sufficiency of God’s grace? What if he looked at his circumstances and marshaled his efforts to rebuild his own kingdom? The good of God’s purpose for Job was not to be wise in his own eyes, deconstruct his experience through his finite perspective, and reconstruct a new worldview around himself. It was to see God for who He really is and know His faithfulness in a way no other man would.

Going forward, the answer might not be to reject deconstruction altogether. Perhaps the answer is to understand its limits. Examining our assumptions has value. Confessing where tradition has been confused with truth, and questioning institutions, methodologies, cultural habits, and inherited interpretations, has value. But if we profess to be among the Faithful, we must eventually ask a different question. What if the thing that needs the most thorough deconstruction is not Christianity, but the assumption that we are qualified to reconstruct it? What if self-asserted authority is the bigger issue? From the Garden, we have chosen autonomy and knowledge as a path to freedom, rather than dependence on the Almighty and community with Him. If the good of the Almighty’s purpose is better than the good of our own purposes, how should we then live in response?

These questions move the conversation from intellectual fashion to spiritual formation. The Christian life is not an endless exercise in refining our ideological framework until it perfectly reflects our preferences. It is a process of surrender. It is the death of the old self and the emergence of something new. It is the renewal of the mind — not because we have finally mastered the right intellectual framework, but because someone greater than ourselves is transforming us. We were made for community with God. Though we are born into a fallen state, we are called to be reconciled to Him, redeemed into His Kingdom, and an integral part of the restorative work He is doing in this world. This not only changes the meaning of reconstruction, but also what it looks like in reality.

We are not called to construct a bespoke faith that makes sense of God according to our preferred worldview. We are called to allow God to reconstruct us. That distinction is everything. Because the danger of our age is not simply that people are deconstructing their faith. It is that after deconstructing what they believe, they may rebuild truth around themselves. Therein lies the illusion that our world lives in. When the self becomes the center of what is rebuilt, there isn’t a deeper faith, understanding, or wisdom; there is only a more complex assertion of self.

The Gospel message offers something far more radical, real, and revolutionary. It is not a better version of self or a more culturally acceptable form of Jesus. It doesn’t empower anyone to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, adopt a customized system of grace, or endlessly revise subjective truths. It calls all who have eyes to see and ears to hear to declare God’s Lordship over all and be transformed by that reality.

We can deconstruct the noise, deconstruct the assumptions, and deconstruct the idols (especially the idol of the self); but we need to be wary of operating in our own authority, wisdom, and purpose. Then, rather than reconstructing God around ourselves, allow God to reconstruct us around Christ. We don’t need another revolution of the church. We don’t need another evolution of mission. No one needs a new methodology for relevance, a wider gate, or a new and greater commission. We need the work of Christ on the cross; His all-sufficient grace. We need to be transformed: dead people, born again into life eternal — a new creation in Christ, living in wisdom and truth.