I am not a psychologist, clinical or otherwise. If questioned, I’d be forced to answer honestly that I put not much stock in the field at all, built as it is upon the godless imaginations of Freud and others like him. My distaste for such foundations, and my arguments against them, are best kept for another place. All of this said, there are two truths that seem obvious to me.
First, that the human mind, the human spirit, and the human heart are woven together in a web that borders on the inextricable. Ask any two men how to distinguish between these references, and place each in a definable box, and you will get three different answers. Ask me, and I will answer that it is by no means clear that we are not discussing one and the same thing.
Second, that the mind (or whichever alternate word) of the human creature is an incredibly complex and fragile thing. It is prone to external attack, prompted by circumstance. It is prone to internal attack, fueled by shortcomings that are not easily pinned down by the outside observer. Finally, it is prone to spiritual attack, as the temptations and whispers of our Creator’s adversary introduce themselves as though they are native to the self, in genius disguise.
This fragility manifested itself very recently within my family. I have a child, too old to experience what we have become accustomed to calling separation anxiety, who underwent something of a mental break. It was triggered on a camping trip on Beaver Island in the middle of Lake Michigan, in a drenched sleeping bag, during a loud thunderstorm. I was with him. His mother and sister were not, and his terror in that moment had little to do with personal safety from what he could tell me, seeming to stem from the fact that we were not all together. He was far from his loved ones, could not get to them now, and gripped by the horror of that realization. For some time after that incident, he was overcome with absolute panic that he could not explain to us, nearly every night, even when separated from us only by a few rooms.
After a full week it had not let up. His parents’ late-night reassuring conversations, our prayers together, our reminders to him of the sovereignty of the God we all serve, all these breached his intellect and met with understanding and affirmation. Yet every night, the panic was back, wrapped in tears and pacing and inability to explain why he was so freaked out. On a morning following this pattern, I took him on a walk alone, and told him the story I am about to tell you, written long ago now in response to (shocker) my own experience with irrational panic attacks. Like father, like son.
The Parable of the Magic Bricks
Once there lived two friends, neighbors in a valley between hills. Elias and Mara were their names, and they held in common both childhood past and future aspiration; for both wished for a strong, sturdy home to call their own in the land of their upbringing. Brick, they schemed together, was the strongest and most beautiful choice, and once built, neighbors they would remain throughout their days. When they had come of age to build, they each gleefully started work, side by side, on the foundations they had so long discussed. Plots were leveled and piles of bricks were ordered in, with the mortar that would hold their hard work together. They stacked their first rows that day, joking and sweating under the sun.
But that night, as they lay encamped and sleeping, something very peculiar happened. They awoke, rubbing their sleepy eyes, and discovered in great shock that their houses were transformed. A layer of bricks, not beautiful and new like their fresh piles, but old, dirty, slightly cracked and crumbling, had appeared atop their work of the prior day. It was as though they had been visited by spirits or elves in the night, who had taken it upon themselves to “help” their projects along. The bricks were uneven and ugly, but standing just the same.
Elias was overjoyed. “Look Mara,” he exclaimed, “the house is building itself!” He leaned happily back against a tree, arms behind his head, pleased to let the inexplicable magic relieve him of his work. Mara, however, glowered at the mysterious bricks. She noted the ugly contrast between their aged appearance and her own, laid fresh and clean beneath. “These bricks are not mine” she said. “They do not belong here.”
And so it was that the two houses rose, day after day. Elias would awaken and admire the fresh layers built upon his walls while he lay sleeping, remarking on the rapid progress of a home that would be completed in no time. Mara’s work slowed drastically. Each morning, she would get up and peel the unwanted bricks off her walls, painstakingly hacking through the dried mortar with chisel and hammer. By afternoon, her fingers bled, her back ached, but the work of replacing the deconstructed bricks with bright red ones remained. She labored long into every evening, rebuilding what must be unmade. Elias’ house grew like an ominous tower, leaving Mara’s far behind.
After some weeks, Elias’ towering construction stood complete, looming high into the sky and casting shadow over the valley. Teasing, he called over to Mara, still prying bad bricks off a house not half finished. “Neighbor!” he called, “Why toil so hard! The magic is ready to do your work, but here you are still sweating away!”
Then came a tremor of the earth. It was no great quake, but a tectonic shiver through that valley basin. Elias’ home, poorly stacked with inferior brick, could not withstand even the persistence of that gentle shake. Weakly mortared, and haphazardly stacked, it shuddered, cracked, and tumbled to a calamity of rubble and dust, from which he narrowly escaped alive. Mara’s house, unfinished but sturdy, weathered the quake with ease, as though without notice or remembrance. As Elias began digging for a few remaining belongings, Mara laid another clean, red brick.
A year later, Mara’s home was complete; a beautiful structure but bare of excess, as practical as it was comfortable. There travelers would stay, admiring her careful handywork, and Mara welcomed them inside with the smile of one with a calm mind. Elias, just beginning to build again after clearing his plot, learned to choose his bricks more carefully, inspired by his friend’s discrimination.
Stoic Wisdom and Biblical Command: Do Not Be the Victim of Your Own Mind
This is a parable not of houses, but of the mind. Its two characters encountered bricks being built into their walls that were both automated and uninvited. In the same way, we are all accosted by stray thoughts that creep into our heads, building a psyche that we can’t quite call our own. At the very least, we cannot call it intentional, as Mara’s bricks were intentional. The walls of our minds are unlikely to withstand a tremor when allowed to self-construct. Yet, there is no requirement that we be passive toward this occurrence, allowing whatever thoughts may come to settle into our walls and become part of the structure that makes us who we are. Like Mara, we do have agency, and can choose which thoughts to keep, and which to peel off and throw aside. I would encourage my reader, as I did my son, to challenge rather than accept their own thoughts.
Challenge them? How can we challenge them when they pop up uninvited? Are they not components of our own characters? Can a man reject himself? Yes. Yes he can. In the Stoic dichotomy, we learn to accept those things that are outside our control; the actions and opinions of others, the circumstances in which we live, the external forces that act upon our lives so rudely. Our own actions and reactions to those things, our own attractions and aversions, and yes, our own thoughts, are squarely within the borders of our sphere of influence. They can be changed and controlled. For the Christian reader, do you imagine that the Apostle Paul is ordering us to perform the impossible? 2 Corinthians 10:5 - “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” And again in Romans 12:2 - “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.”
The scriptures command what the Stoics suggest. Do not be a victim of your own thoughts, or those that invade from circumstance, environment, or enemy. Take every thought captive, ordered to the obedience of Christ. This is not merely a business in which we might choose to engage, it is the business in which we must engage.
Therefore, I submit that controlling your thoughts is possible. Difficult, yes. But like all difficult skills, it requires some determined practice. Below are four practical steps that I have crafted on Stoic and Christian principle, during my own (rather extreme) battles with anxiety and panic, and have now passed on to my son. First however, I want to suggest the correct mindset. I encourage you to begin arguing with your judgements and feelings, rather than accepting them as inevitabilities. Not every thought that pops into your head is the truth of the universe speaking to you. Many are just opinion, a claim made by a mind with a mind of its own. Worse, they can be the world’s thoughts encroaching upon your autonomy, or those of Satan in inscrutable disguise. It is not within your pervew, I think, to make a correct determination of which is which, and do so without fail. Therefore, practice this: Treat your thoughts like the arguments of an opponent in a debate. Treat them as not really yours, but suggestions from outside. They are the opinions of someone else, and as such, they can be rejected or accepted according to reason. You will weigh them, and decide whether they will go into the walls of your mental house, or be peeled off and cast aside like Mara’s bad bricks.
This new mentality may not be entirely true. But it may as well be, for all you care. For practical purposes, you should not be concerned about whose thoughts they are, just whether they are worthy bricks for your building.
Four Practical Christian-Stoic Steps for Taking Your Thoughts Captive
Here are my steps. Of course, there are more ways to skin a cat, and other methods may be viable. But, doing nothing, and allowing your house to be built without your permission, is not. Each step comes with a reasoning segment, a prayer segment, and a physical gesture. Why engage in the seemingly silly mummery of a physical gesture, like a toddler learning the Itsy-Bitsy Spider? Because we are physical and spiritual beings, not merely one or the other. Engaging physically with the spiritual is entrenched sacramentally in Christian practice for a reason. It’s effective. It cements the spiritual in a way that mere intangible thought cannot.
Step 1: Notice the Brick
Reasoning:
This is the first big hurdle, as many of us allow the houses of our minds to be built without even thinking about whether a brick is rotten or red. We utter cliches such as “this is just how I am,” and never even notice the bad bricks we are mortaring into our structure, let alone discriminate against them. It’s as if we are applying the Stoic dichotomy of control backward... assessing that our own thoughts and feelings are the things that lie outside our influence. But no! We need to do the hokey-pokey and turn ourselves around.
To become a brick-sorting expert, the first step is to actually observe the thoughts and feelings that pop into your head. Ask “What am I thinking right now?” and then answer your question honestly. Simply noticing and labeling them for what they are, without immediately accepting or rejecting them, is no small piece of progress. It will lead to the power to decide whether they are built into your walls. Practice your powers of observation.
Prayer:
This is a simple conversation. A confession, in a sense. Speak to God, simply communicating to Him, with as much honesty as you can muster, the thing you are thinking or feeling. Once you have done this a few times, there is no need to pray at length every time. You can consolidate this to shorthand, with a God that knows before you even open your mouth. “Anger.” “Lust.” “Selfishness.” “Ingratitude.” “Fear.” Confessing these in a word will do just fine.
Physical Gesture:
Hand out, palm up, like you are holding something in front of you. Then, lift it up slightly as if you are showing it to God.
Step 2: Examine the Brick
Reasoning:
Once you’ve taken notice of the thought or emotion, examine it with reason. Rotten or red? Is this brick sturdy and aligned with your pursuit of wisdom and virtue? Or is it flawed, unhelpful, and rooted in sin? Treat the thought like an over-ambitious claim in a debate. It must prove its veracity and worth, not simply be accepted because it exists. Stop treating it as your thought, but one set forth by an opponent in an argument.
Prayer:
A simple request for wisdom and discernment. Ask God to guide your logical interrogation of this thought and lead you to the truth. Short hand: “Help me think” will do just fine.
Physical Gesture:
Both hands out, palms facing one another, turning the imagined thing you are holding this way and that.
Step 3. Reject the Bad Brick
Reasoning:
If it’s a bad brick, misaligned with reason, virtue, and trust in God, mark it for removal. Don’t let bad bricks stay in your mental walls. Actively reject them, as though you have a big red “false” stamp on the desk of your mind. Apply this stamp liberally, and begin to put your mind in its place.
Prayer:
Inform your Lord that you do not want this thing in your head. That it’s there against your will. Communicate your intention to reject it. Shorthand: “Reject” will do perfectly well.
Physical Gesture:
Stamp your palm with your big red “false” label, then throw the imaginary object to the side.
Step 4. Lay a Red Brick
Reason:
Void invites invasion. Every bad brick you remove requires replacement, else it will soon be swapped for another. You are not in the business of merely peeling bad bricks off a house. You have to build a house. Replace beating yourself over the head with sins or insecurities of years past with gratitude for the wisdom and sanctification you gained by them. Replace worry about items that fall into the “uncontrollable” dichotomy with verses or hymns on the sovereignty and providence of God. Replace stewing in your anger over the sins of others with joy in the forgiveness of your own.
Prayer:
Ask God to supply the mortar that will cement these good bricks permanently in your walls. We are communicating this desire, this resolution, and asking for His aid in its performance and permanence. “Build it” will do just fine for a shorthand prayer.
Physical Gesture:
Fist on palm, like you’re setting a brick in your wall.
Conclusion:
Be a mara, not an Elias. Start practicing good, Stoic fueled, Christ-centered thought control. Take your thoughts captive, lest they construct a character that cannot handle the smallest of quakes. If you are one who has never learned to sort bricks at all, allowing them to be built into your house without question or thought, then why not give my method a try? As silly as you may feel at first, you have nothing to lose, and much to gain. Start teaching your children to do the same, lest they follow in your former footsteps. If you don’t like my steps, go with someone else’s, or create your own. But do not let your brick house be constructed by external forces, be they circumstance or Satan. Don’t trust your character to strange magic.
Key Words / Search Terms
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