In Walker Percy’s Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book, he examines the oft-used fictional trope of a protagonist contracting amnesia and living a second life unaware of his origins. After examining several possible reasons for the popularity of this plot device, Percy concludes that our culture derives pleasure “not [from] the amnesia but the certified and risk-free license to leave the old self behind and enter upon a new life, whether by amnesia or mistaken identity.” It is as though the thought of living only the lives we are given is so dissatisfying that we collectively gravitate toward the most socially acceptable mechanism for leaving it all behind.
While acknowledging the popularity of this particular type of amnesia storyline, my favorite fictional case of amnesia is quite the opposite: in the film The Muppets Take Manhattan, Kermit the frog and his friends arrive starry-eyed in New York City full of idealistic dreams of performing their show on Broadway. After many trials and travails, Kermit finally finds a producer who wants to back his show. But as Kermit rushes to tell his friends the good news, he is hit by a car and loses his memory. His post-amnesia life at an ad agency is dull, bland, and full of co-workers exactly like him (and with strangely similar names). In contrast to the “normal” amnesia storyline, Kermit actually has an exciting and meaningful life waiting for him if only he could remember it. Only through his subconscious recollection of the opening number from his Broadway show do his friends find him and bring him back in time for opening night.
Rising Tide and Living Hope
To me these two stories resemble the two primary metanarratives at work in our society today. The rising tide of reductionist materialism takes the existence of the cosmos as a given, but tells us that our lives and values are contingent and ultimately meaningless in light of the inevitable heat death of the universe. While a few of the prophets of this new atheism preach a stoic faith of the strong, the reality for most who embrace this worldview is instead a new Epicureanism, longing to forget their true circumstances and embrace temporary distractions until they pass from the Earth.
In contrast to this worldview, Christianity asserts that we have a living hope, as manifested in the loving God who wrote meaning and transcendence into the fabric of creation, ultimately shedding his own blood to bring us into this redemption. As others have noted, Christianity is in this sense much more intellectually satisfying because in the midst of trouble it calls us not to forget but to remember our true circumstances. Like Kermit, we find that amnesia is not an escape, but rather a hindrance to finding the satisfaction we have always longed for.
If what we believe as Christians is true—that love is not a biochemical accident in our brains but a deeper law of nature from before the dawn of time as shown in the Godhead—then these opposing stories of amnesia are a valuable opportunity to offer prophetic witness to the larger culture. For even if many today explicitly sing the tune of materialism, we would expect them to subconsciously recall an older song of meaning, hope, and lasting harmony. This hidden longing for joy is the basis of every happy ending of every Story that is worthy of the name.
As the Western church loses cultural sway in the coming years, our witness to this culture will be in large part dictated by how well we can produce stories, art, and acts of love that resonate with the deeper music written on every human heart.
Is there enough evidence for us to believe the Gospels?
In an age of faith deconstruction and skepticism about the Bible’s authority, it’s common to hear claims that the Gospels are unreliable propaganda. And if the Gospels are shown to be historically unreliable, the whole foundation of Christianity begins to crumble.
