Radical acceptance and the complications of being human

I don’t know why, but some of us are quite fond of wallowing in our shortcomings. There have been times in my life where every single day would begin with a series of apologies; to myself and to God. And the apologies would always be followed by promises. I’m sorry for yesterday, today will be different, and tomorrow I’ll be better. I will be more spiritual, more disciplined, more focused, more devoted, more pure.

I don’t need any encouragement to chastise myself for my sins, although certain forms of religiosity will gladly do that for you. But if we’re tempted to think that religion is the only way to make you feel like you don’t measure up, we’re kidding ourselves. Shame and inadequacy are not the sole domain of the unhealthily religious. Everywhere you look you’ll find a series of messages telling you about your shortcomings; even if the words and phrases are less religious and are packaged inside of an advertising campaign for a new fragrance.

Humans are so easily tempted into self-judgement, to view ourselves through the lens of critique and comparison (and to use this against others too). And yet we also know those for whom it seems a little self-critique might be a good thing. Those who appear to barrel their way through life without even stopping to consider what faults might lie beneath the surface of their bravado.

The truth is, we’re complicated. And this is something that both religion and science should be able to agree on. Our evolution as a species has resulted in a human creature that is uniquely perceptive, empathetic and loving, but also competitive, fearful and easily manipulated into violence. In many respects, some of these fundamental traits like fear are not in and of themselves “negative”; fear has helped us to survive. But the big question for us to wrestle with is where is this story going? What kind of humans are we, but more than that, what kind of humans do we want to become?

Christian theologians tend to fall into two camps. The ‘human depravity’ brigade like to focus on the perversion and evil of humanity. We are damaged, they say. We’re unable to see reason, to know truth, to pursue rightness and justice, and corrupted by our rebellion against God. In this case our only hope is a forgiveness that we do not deserve but which can be offered because Jesus was the one punished on our behalf. While this can be a compelling route to a sense of freedom, we also have to live with the “what we really deserve” narrative that bubbles away under the top layers of liberation. We’re forgiven, but only when you know that God had to work really hard on it and it wasn’t offered without a terrible cost. The price of this liberation can be a subtle but pervasive sense of shame.

On the other hand, there are those in the “original blessing” camp who want to prioritise the original goodness of human beings. Despite our failings, we are fundamentally good, they say. We simply need to find our true selves, the goodness that lies within, and stop focusing on the ‘sin’ narrative. Salvation, in this sense, may be known as a coming alive to who we really are, rather than a rejection of the sinful self.

So who is right? Maybe both and neither at the same time.

Human beings are capable of remarkable goodness and creativity, of perceiving and cultivating beauty and compassion. We can love with selfless abandon and pour ourselves into the lives of others with remarkable potency. But we can also become violent, possessive and greedy. We can see others as tools of our own betterment, and as subjects of our jealousy and rage. 

Which is the real us? What does it really mean to be human? 

I don’t know if there’s an answer to that question. Trying to detect a ‘real us’ beneath the surface can be impossible exercise. We are all of these things. We are saint and sinner, beautiful and broken. 

But instead of spending our energy trying to figure out which came first, perhaps it serves us better to accept the reality we inhabit. Somehow, our beliefs and practices need to offer us a pathway through the complex terrain that is the human condition in the here and now. Our starting point need not be a deep dive into depravity, nor the soaring idealism of a naïve human innocence, but the difficult acknowledgement that we are capable of both good and harm in profound ways. We need some way to deal with both the light and the shadow, the self-giving and the self-aggrandising. And I think this is what meaningful spirituality can help us to navigate. 

Hating ourselves is no remedy to our pain, and so the notion of radical acceptance can be a potent place to begin. We cannot be other than we are, right here and now. And surely, at its best this is one of the deep insights of the Christian tradition. The question of love is not whether or not I deserve it or earn it, but that it is freely given and is the grounds for all that has come into being. The divine is important here, not as a heavenly granddaddy in the sky but as the way for us to realise that love for self doesn’t have to start with earning love from another, because there is a more ultimate love that is already given and received in the very being-ness of things.

The hope offered in such a realisation, is that we begin with the acceptance of who we are, including light and shadow. Acceptance is an easy thing to say, and a hard thing to do, but it’s also where the life is. There’s something disruptively radical about it, because it requires a coming face-to-face with ourselves. There is no pretending to be better than we are, but acceptance without withering judgement is the invitation. And perhaps, if this can be our starting point, we’ll find that in the place of radical acceptance, we’ll bump into the seeds of change.