In one section of Dostoevsky’s final novel, The Brothers Karamazov, the middle brother Ivan relates an imagined poem/story to his younger brother Alyosha in which the Grand Inquisitor^[1] is interviewing Jesus. Ivan is a brilliant atheist. Alyosha is a devout Christian.

The story imagines the Inquisitor confronting Jesus for having created freewill, which, he maintains, is the cause of everything evil in the world. The Inquisitor’s argument, in part, is that Jesus should have taken the satan’s offer, bowed to him, and seized the world’s kingdoms. Jesus could then have controlled world history, eliminating all the wars, oppressions, poverty, and injustices. Would we not be better off in such a scenario?

Jesus mostly listens, then wins the argument by lovingly kissing his opponent, leaving him stunned by mysterious grace. Later, Alyosha counters Ivan’s intellectual atheism in the same way – not with argument, but with love.

It seems clear that we do not have unlimited freewill. We are products of genetics, environment, influences, and circumstances. Our lives have predetermined parameters. We only have so many years to live, so many opportunities to learn, so much potential capacity. I’ll never be a professional football player or a concert violinist.

But it’s also evident that we have freewill within those parameters. And, in most cases we don’t know exactly where the limits are. Enough brave people have defied the odds and risen above disabilities, disadvantages, and severe adversity to teach us to push the boundaries of possibilities.

Imagine a ship on its way to a foreign port. The port of call is our destiny. Being passengers and not captain or crew, we do not control where the ship finally docks. Moreover, as we sail, there may be events over which we have no control. We might experience illness or injury, for example, or, more positively, we might meet a stranger who changes our lives. But within those parameters over which we have no control, we have freewill, agency, to do what we like, eat when and where we want, talk with whom we choose, and so on. I can choose to spend the voyage in my stuffy cabin, or on deck enjoying the ocean air. Life is somewhat analogous – there are things out of our control, fate, or destiny if you choose, and there are also genuine choices before us.

Some people are content to live within the comfort and familiarity of the ordinary. Routine life in the affluent first-world occident lulls us into the ordinary. Content with the hand dealt to us by the fates, we are happy to be spouses, parents, neighbors, workers. On life’s voyage, we fall into routines. There is nothing wrong with that. It is both honorable and the path of the majority. Moreover, in much of the world, life consists of surviving day to day. Maslow’s hierarchy demands attention.

Yet within all strata of society, some seem almost possessed by a sense of calling. Traditionally, we call this a vocation or a calling. In the common vernacular, “vocation” often means whatever one does for a living. Here, I use the word to mean more than that. Vocation is a deep spiritual sense of calling. St. Paul said, “Woe am I if I preach not the gospel.” His ministry was not a job or a career; it was a divine calling, impressed on him from outside, almost against his will. His freedom came into play when he submitted to that calling. He could have refused. He likely would have been miserable from then on and viewed his calling, his vocation, his fate, as a curse. Submitting, it became his passion. It gave him joy, meaning, and a sense of wellbeing even in adverse circumstances.

True vocations come from the Divine. They contain a sense of destiny and passion. Divine vocations seem to always be in service to creation. I’ve seen it in pastors, priests, veterinarians, social workers, physicians, psychologists, authors, teachers, nurses, naturalists, scientists, and grandmothers. Conversely, one can engage in any occupation as a job, duty, or career, rather than from a sense of calling.

Not all vocations or callings are divine, however. There are people who will sacrifice anything for power, money, and fame. They are obsessed, driven; they have a sense of destiny, but it is infamous. There are nefarious forces in the universe that deceive, seduce, and wreak havoc. If one feels a sense of destiny, one must discern its source. A vocation that promotes health, wholeness, oneness, wellbeing, actualization, individuation, charity, conservation, stewardship, justice, equity, and the elevation of the poor, marginalized, and disenfranchised is almost certainly divine. Conversely, a vocation that leads to the opposite is demonic.

Nietzsche took the demonic path. He proclaimed himself Superman, said that God was dead, called Jesus “the pale enemy,” and insisted that might makes right. Hitler combined that philosophy with populace nationalism, a myth of racial superiority, national exceptionalism, and a perversion of Christianity. Nietzsche wound up insane. Hitler committed suicide after murdering millions.

These are Kairos times – a major transition is underway. Nations, as well as individuals, often get the fate they deserve. I have deep roots in the United States. I’m a member of the Sons of the American Revolution. Ancestors fought to end slavery. My father spent five years at sea combatting Nazi fascism. As a nation, we have never owned and repented of stealing Native land, the genocide of indigenous peoples, slavery, racism baked into our institutions, white supremacy, misogyny, homophobia, political corruption, and the avarice that lies under many evils.  As a nation, we are plunging into insidious despotism. An entire political party has been taken over by a lying, cheating, racist, greedy egomaniac. By and large, “white”^[2] Christians^[3] support a man who embodies the seven deadly sins and whose policies, in so much as he has any, are diametrically opposite of the teachings of Christ.

Is a neo-fascist, jingoistic despotism our national fate? Are we, like Nietzsche and Hitler fated for a destiny we created and deserve? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, within those parameters, we have individual freewill. We can choose how to act and react.

Given this Kairos moment^[4], how are we to respond?

On one level, the answer is obvious – take a strong stand for justice, peace, acceptance, understanding, and honesty. Stand with the oppressed, marginalized, victimized, disenfranchised, poor, sick, and outcast. For Christians, proclaim the way of Jesus – love, grace, mercy, nonviolence, hospitality, forgiveness, acceptance, service to those in need.

On a deeper level, recognize that all of us are created in the image of God. All of creation is precious and sacred. God loves every single person so much that Jesus died for them. God is not willing for any to perish.

Coming to that deeper level requires the relinquishment of the ego’s need to control. It requires submission to the overarching Divine Will, at the center of which lies justice and nonviolent resistance to evil. Our collective existence is at stake.

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^[1] Most likely Tomás de Torquemada who was Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition from 1483 to 1498.

^[2] There is no such thing as a “white race.” Whiteness is an invention of modern racists to support chattel slavery. There is only one race – human.

^[3] It is difficult to assign the title “Christian” to those whose beliefs and actions are the exact opposite of what Jesus taught. One’s impeccable doctrine is of little value without the fruit of the Spirit.

^[4] Theologically, a kairos moment is an opportune time within God’s plan and will.