Virtue in a Pill, Pt. 3

John Wesley drew a sharp distinction between what he called "sins" and "infirmities." I find this to be a rich theological resource which needs to be explored in light of my recent change in personality. Simply put, Wesley understood sin to be "a willful violation of a fully known law of God." Holiness includes, among other things, the complete elimination (some prefer the word "eradication") of sin from one's life. Infirmities, on the other hand, are those temperaments and dispositions within us that are imperfect and yet do not make us morally blameworthy for having them. For example, if I do not have the knowledge that my friend from Kenya considers it rude for me to pass him by without stopping to chat for a few minutes, and this is in fact exactly what I do, then I have made a mistake (as a result of an infirmity of knowledge), but not a sin. If, on the other hand, I was fully aware that this was his cultural expectation and decided to offend him anyway, this would be a sin. Infirmities can take the form of ignorance, physical disabilities, or anything in our behavior that is simply the result of us "being human."

(I must state parenthetically that I strongly disapprove of the tendency for many people to do a deliberate act of sin and then categorize it as though it were an infirmity. "After all, I'm only human." That statement is a sacrilege against the word "human.")

But my pill is challenging me to perhaps widen the scope/range/variety of infirmities. While not wanting to remove personal responsibility and replace it with a "victimization" theology, I must wonder how much of human behavior is influenced by factors outside of our own control. Since I was a little child, I was told that I was too serious and needed to learn to lighten up. I grew up with the understanding that this was a flaw in my character. A better Greg could laugh at himself more easily, see the humor in certain situations, etc. And somewhere along the line I became convinced that this was an issue of sin... my inability to smile or laugh in certain situations reflected a lack of character.

But the pill has changed me (at least for the last several days). I now find it almost natural or easy to laugh at myself and my mistakes. Little inconveniences like Lydah spilling her cereal all over the place have become more the subject of laughter than anger. Instead of feeling the heat build up under my collar, I find a sort of holy power to recognize how silly it would be to get upset about something so small and innocent. In this small way, the pill has made me more of what I have always wanted to be, but never could be before... a little more happy-go-lucky and carefree.

But the real question in my mind is this: Am I still the real Greg Coates that God made me? The Greg Coates I've always known is prone to irritability with others (a sin or an infirmity?), but the Lexapro Greg Coates ("the high Greg Coates") is a nicer guy... a bit more patient and kind and gentle and loving. In other words, the pill has given me a cheap shortcut to the fruit of the Spirit. Have I traded in my pneumatology for pharmacology? Have I turned to chemicals to accomplish what the Holy Spirit did not accomplish within me for years? Is this pill a gift from God or is it a cheap little demon that will make me its slave?

And is the old sour Greg really just a product of infirmity? Has my brain made me a victim all of my life? Perhaps I'm not morally culpable for always being inclined to act like a jerk. God could have just made me a nice guy at birth if he'd wanted to.

I'm asking myself the following theoretical question: If I could have a brain surgery that would make me exhibit all of the qualities of one who is entirely sanctified, would I do it? So far in my life, the answer has been "no." Why? Because I see it as a cheap cop-out for an essential process -- the hard work of training in virtue through the means of grace, discipline, and reliance upon God. Dallas Willard points out that a man who wanted nothing more than to be free from lust could gouge out his eyes and castrate himself in order to accomplish his mission, but God does not will for us to roll into heaven a "mutilated stump." He'd actually rather us battle our thorns in the flesh and grow in character as a result than to take the easy way.

And now it is just a question of degrees. What is different about me taking Lexapro from having the "sanctifying-brain-surgery"? The pill is just a small, daily brain surgery.

But strangely I'm not feeling very guilty about all of this. Very strange, in fact, since I've always felt guilty about everything. Must be the pill.