For the past three hundred years, beginning with thinkers such as Nietzsche, Freud, Marx, and Feuerbach, Western philosophical and intellectual traditions have continually challenged the authority of the father. This critique extended beyond the earthly father to the idea of God the Father, and in many ways the feminist movement further weakened the cultural influence of the traditional father figure.

Now, with the expected release of The Odyssey: the movie by Christopher Nolan; a story centered on the father's return home—we may be witnessing a symbolic shift. Odysseus does not simply return as a husband or a king; he returns as a father who restores order, identity, and continuity to his family and society. Perhaps this reflects a broader cultural longing for the return of the father figure and, by extension, even the return of God the Father to the center of our civilization.

Jordan Peterson is one of the most influential public intellectuals of the 21st century. Understanding why he became so famous is an interesting question. After videos of him debating students outside his university campus were released, along with numerous interviews and public appearances, Peterson gained a massive following. His books on meaning, responsibility, and rules for life sold millions of copies. Large audiences attended his lectures, and he engaged in discussions and debates with many prominent thinkers.

Personally, I believe that the discussion between Jordan Peterson and Richard Dawkins is one of the best conversations I have ever listened to. There are many reasons for Peterson’s popularity, but one particular reason attracted people to him in a unique way: he often sounds like a father figure.

Over the last 300 years, many thinkers in the Western intellectual tradition have challenged the idea of fatherhood in one form or another. Thinkers such as Freud, Nietzsche, Feuerbach, Derrida, and others contributed to the decline of traditional notions of authority and fatherhood. Some, like Freud, were primarily concerned with the psychological relationship between individuals and their fathers. Others, such as Nietzsche and Derrida, challenged the idea of a metaphysical Father through critiques of religion and traditional belief systems. This trend continued in the modern atheist movement through figures like Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins, who criticized religious belief and denied the existence of God. mind that attacking faith particularly Christianity is a metaphysical commitment to deny the ultimate fatherhoodness in God.

According to this perspective, the result was a significant loss of meaning in the Western world. Many people no longer knew what to believe and struggled to find a sense of purpose in life because they don’t have the voice of authority in their life.

Then, in the midst of this cultural environment, a Canadian clinical psychologist began boldly speaking to people how to live meaningful lives by taking responsibility for themselves. Peterson’s famous statement, “If you want to change the world, start by making your bed,” did not sound like a clinical recommendation from a psychologist. Instead, it carried the tone of a father figure giving responsibility.

This may explain why so many young men, in particular, are attracted to his message. Nowadays its common to find young people coming to church especially to Catholic and Orthodox churches and claim that Peterson was pivotal in their pursuit of faith.

Some time ago, when Peterson came to the city where I currently live, I saw a father bring his son to one of his lectures. I was surprised by it at first but I think the father simply wanted his son to hear some important lessons, and in his eyes Peterson was someone who could be trusted to provide.

Perhaps this is one of the deepest reasons for Peterson’s appeal to the public Audience . Many people see him as an older and wiser figure who can guide young people toward responsibility, meaning, and purpose in life.

Thiel can be described as a transhumanist who invests heavily in technology with the aim of improving human life. He is also known for his companies PayPal and Palantir At the same time, he is deeply interested in philosophy and religion, giving him a unique perspective that combines technological optimism with broader existential questions. This combination is part of what makes him such a fascinating figure. Recently, He gave a lecture on the Anti-Christ pointing that the Anti-Christ may not be as many predicts it someone who use technology to control the world but someone who gives hope to protect the mass from the fast changing technology. Basically, for Thiel those who are against progress are the ones affiliated with the idea of the Anti-Christ.

What is particularly interesting about Thiel is that he is also a conservative and has supported Donald Trump for quite some time. Because of Trump’s personality and constant presence in the media, many people overlooked how the political right was evolving in the background.

The United States has been engaged in a culture war for more than a decade. Since Trump’s arrival on the political scene, politics has not been the same. His style was new and unconventional, and much of the public’s attention became focused on him as a personality. Meanwhile, especially after Trump left office in 2021, the right continued to organize itself and wage the culture war against the left, eventually helping to return itself to power.

Because so much attention was directed toward fighting what many viewed as a growing left-wing agenda, few people paid attention to the deeper ideological currents developing on the right. Behind Trump’s political success stood figures such as Elon Musk, who is both a conservative and a transhumanist. This alliance between technological futurism and right-wing politics was not obvious to many observers because it developed gradually and often subtly.

I recently saw Elon Musk express support for universal basic income, an idea that, in my view, could encourage social stagnation rather than progress and weaken traditional ideas about human purpose and achievement.

Peter Thiel’s views go even further. He believes that humanity should transcend its current biological limitations. In some of his discussions, he has suggested that the future value of humanity depends on its ability to move beyond its present condition.

From this perspective, the political right may function as a Trojan horse for technocratic ambitions. Influential technology figures such as Thiel and Musk are not simply participating in politics; they are advancing broader visions of the future that extend beyond conventional conservative goals. These technocrats are the leaders of the future and we should keep an eye on them.

But deep down, I sometimes have to ask myself a question: to what extent do I love my football team? Is it simply something I enjoy, or is it something that defines me?

I remember a time when I was deeply emotionally attached to my club. Whenever my team played, I would shiver with anxiety before kickoff. I celebrated goals and victories with overwhelming emotion, and I felt genuinely devastated after defeats. Looking back, I realize that this was more than entertainment. It was something much deeper.

For a long time, Europe was shaped by religion. People’s identities, communities, and sense of belonging were rooted in faith. As religion declined, many of those same instincts seemed to find a new home in sports. Stadiums resemble churches. Once or twice a week, people gather with others who share the same devotion. They sing loudly in unison. They participate in rituals before, during, and after the match. In many ways, football has developed its own liturgy.

And football is not confined to Europe. Unlike a local tradition, it has become catholic (universal). Wherever I am in the world, I can participate in the ritual of watching a football match. I can gather with others who share the same passion and experience a sense of community that transcends borders and practically admit that I believe in the catholicity of football.

I am not criticizing football fandom. Well, I am, to some extent. I still love the game, and I will continue to watch it. But I think we should be willing to examine ourselves honestly.

When I cry because my team has won a trophy, when I become emotional over a club legend returning, or when I ride the endless emotional rollercoaster that football provides, what does that reveal about me? Does it suggest that my deepest allegiance and sense of identity comes from being a Manchester United supporter, or from being a Christian?

When I sing at the top of my lungs, “Take me home, United Road, to the place I belong, Old Trafford,” what am I really saying? Does that suggest that my home is Old Trafford rather than heaven?

I will still watch football. There is nothing wrong with that But I think a fundamental question remains worth asking. Is it a passion, or is it an idol? Is it something I enjoy, or has it become something that gives me my ultimate identity?

I recently studied theological education—how education has developed over the centuries and the recent changes it is facing. Even though I studied a theological course, the effects are also relevant to the wider educational arena. Education is one of the first areas to be affected by AI, and people are already feeling it. Now I can enroll in a university online without moving there or going through all the hassle of adjusting. This was unthinkable just a few years ago, but now it is a reality.

However, this has changed the whole aspect of what education is supposed to do. Education is not only about gaining certain information about something; it is also an existential reality. Technology somehow assumes that education and the person are two parallel things. The person and the information become separate, and the student can acquire information without being deeply affected because, at the end of the day, we see education as a means to an end. But education was not meant to be like that. Education is meant to have an existential impact on us. It is not only about information but also about the people we interact with, the professors who teach us, the environment we study in, the table talks, the classroom, the chair, and the desk. All of these shape the kind of education that forms us into a certain type of person. The ancients understood education better than we do. The Greek model of paideia is all about becoming a certain kind of person—or what they called being “cultured”—and this will not happen in front of a screen.

I would like to suggest what C. R. Wiley offered as a coping mechanism or solution for the change that is coming. He draws from Antony the Great, who retreated to the desert to form his own community and avoid corruption. Educators should take the same steps, prioritizing physical meetings and engagement rather than going with the trend. In doing so, we should prove the prime minister wrong by retaining institutions even after 20, 30, or 40 years.

One thing is clear: the text in Galatians 5:21 refers to immoral and illicit behavior, not to listening to secular music. Yonas Gorefe has made a strong case for this, and I don’t think it is very debatable, so I will move on to other arguments.

From here, I want to make a positive case for listening to secular music. Music is good, and every good thing comes from God. Everything that is true, beautiful, and good comes from God because He created it that way (James 1:17). The goodness of creation is clearly affirmed in the Bible. Therefore, we can say that music is good, not evil.

Not only that, but music is also beautiful. We are drawn to music because of its intrinsic beauty. This beauty ultimately comes from God, who is the source of all goodness and joy. Those who truly recognize the beauty of music cannot help but feel deep gratitude for its existence.

Music is also an expression of who we are. In ancient times, people didn’t just preserve their identity through speech but they also sang and chanted it. Today, we write, paint, and create plays to express our culture and shared experiences. In the same way, music can express who we are culturally and even nationally. Beyond that, we are all connected by common human experiences like happiness, sadness, friendship, and love. Music helps us tell the story of how we experience life. In this sense, music is a gift from God that allows humanity to express itself.

That said, it would be unwise for Christians to be unselective about what they listen to. Music has the power to shape our desires. Some songs can lead us to idolize things like nationalism, romantic love, or even sorrow in unhealthy ways. Christians need to be careful about what they consume, because what we take in influences who we become and what we value. If we are not careful, it may lead us away from glorifying God.

For example, one song says:

በአይኖችሽ ብርሀን ደምቆ በፈገግታሽ
የዘላለም ፍቅሩን አሜን ነው የሚልሽ
ይሄን ታላቅ እውነት የተረዳው ማነው
አይንሽን ባየው አለሰለችሽ አለኝ ባየው

This presents a person’s beauty as the highest truth, which can become a form of idolatry. For Christians, the highest truth is God revealing Himself through His Son, Jesus Christ. So while music itself is not evil, Christians should be careful about what they listen to, because it can shape their hearts and beliefs in powerful ways.

St. Paul’s Church has a statue of the apostle with the inscription “Doctor of the Gentiles,” while Peter is known as the one called to preach the Gospel to the Jews. Yet the city of Rome seems to accommodate both apostles within its architecture. The fact that both apostles died in Rome shows how the leaders of the Jews and the Gentiles were even more closely connected in their death.One church is built outside the city, and one stands at its center. Together, they hold the soul of the city in a way that reflect that Peter and Paul are not enemies but friends.

The higher critical theory of division between the Pauline and Petrine traditions is not recognized by the early church. In fact, their harmony formed the conceptual framework through which the earliest Christians understood the city of Rome. Historical criticism should also take into account how cities speak for themselves and how the people who inhabited them historically understood their identity and their faith.

For some modern evangelicals, your identity is not necessarily tied to a particular church. Of course, you might grow up in a certain church and have an emotional attachment to that church, but when another trendy one comes, you leave your church and move to that one. And when another trendy one emerges, you leave also the current one. More or less, the reason for switching to another church is not theological; most of the churches are not theologically that much different. The measurement is trendiness and excitement.

Before the modern times and before there were multiple churches, you belonged to the church that is geographically closer to you. The church is the essential part of the neighborhood. You do not find a church, but you find yourself in the church. That is what happens in infant baptism: before even you’re an adult and able to make a choice, you are given a new identity by being in a church which you did not choose to attend. For modern Christians, they choose from a variety of options to belong to and leave that one when it fades out.

Of course, in our contemporary situation, making a choice is inevitable, but the way the churches are presented to us is like products. The churches present themselves like a fine product and try to advertise themselves with their platforms as the best one for giving the ultimate experience. This is forcefully propagated by the consumerist taste of modern consumption and the churches follow the same trend.

Instead, being in a church should be seen as being planted in a certain environment. Unless well rooted, it is difficult to be fruitful. Touristy church goers wont have a stable identity because their identity is always in the making.

Jacob was a mama’s boy with deep daddy issues—though he probably didn't realize it until much later in life. He was a wounded man: seeking love and acceptance. Then came one night when it all hit him: everything he had worked for his entire life was about to slip through his fingers. His wives, his children, his wealth—all of it could vanish in a single night. That dreadful night was the night he would come face-to-face with life itself, with the ultimate reckoning. It was the night he had to wrestle with who he really was and who he was meant to become.

He knew that by morning, he would have to face his brother—his lifelong rival. And in that moment of solitude and fear, Jacob began to question everything. He had risked his life, schemed, and struggled to build his wealth, but now it all felt meaningless. Stripped of certainty and left alone with his thoughts, he was overwhelmed with worry.

You see, Jacob was the younger of twins. His older brother was their father’s favorite—the one who was out in the world making things happen—while Jacob stayed close to home, helping his mother with chores. The favoritism ran deep, not only wounding him emotionally but also shaping his place in the family. He grew up feeling eternally inferior, reminded daily that he was second just like in his birth order.When the time came for their father to bless his firstborn—the one who would inherit the family legacy—Jacob couldn't bear it anymore. With his mother’s help, he deceived his father and stole the blessing meant for his brother so that he would feel loved and hear those sweet words from his dad. When his brother found out, his rage burned so hot that Jacob had to flee for his life. He ran to his uncle’s house, hoping for refuge.

But even there, he found no genuine love. His uncle made him work like a slave for 14 years just for the right to marry his daughter. With no sons of his own, the uncle exploited Jacob’s labor without shame. And Jacob, ever the survivor, used his tricks to build his own wealth—this time by outsmarting the very man who had used him Just so that he could feel seen and be someone at least with what he acquired. But when he realized his uncle’s resentment had turned deadly, he fled once again.

Now, after all these years, he was heading home—straight toward the brother he had wronged. For the first time, Jacob decided to let go. He sent his family and possessions ahead and remained alone, just as he had been when he first left home. That night, terrified and anxious, he wrestled—not with a man, but with God. Through the struggle, he held on and refused to let go until he heard the words his soul had always longed for: that he was loved, that he was chosen, that he mattered.

When he heard those words, everything changed. He walked away not just blessed, but transformed—with a new name and a new identity

According to Kevin Vanhoozer, modern interpreters had already announced that “the author is dead,” accepting premises influenced by Friedrich Nietzsche. In this framework, the reader is expected not merely to discover meaning but to produce it—to create it. This inevitably leads to multiple meanings, since meaning becomes subjective. There is no longer order, but confusion and chaos.

This is exactly how our generation deals with the question, “What is the purpose of life?” Instead of pursuing what the Author of life has to say about meaning and purpose, we attempt to create meaning for ourselves. We look inward to make sense of the outward world. Meaning becomes self-discovery. It becomes authenticity.
But looking inside for meaning is like opening Pandora’s box—a plethora of meanings, as Charles Taylor describes. And this is where confusion, depression, and identity crises begin. We were never made to produce meaning; we were made to receive it. We were not created to look within ourselves to discover our purpose, but to seek the Author and know His intention.

A clear example of how we now deal with meaning and purpose can be seen in contemporary views of beauty—in art, music, and sculpture. You often hear people say they are trying to “discover themselves” through art. That is why much modern art feels shallow. It becomes mere self-expression. Postmodern art is perhaps the clearest example of this.

Now compare this with medieval art in Europe or even ancient Ethiopian art. We still admire these works. We still pay thousands to see them. Why? Because they are not merely self-expression; they are transcendental. They point beyond themselves to something greater, something higher, something better. They move us toward the Beautiful, the True, and the Good.

For someone who grew up in the city, who has seen and tasted the life the city offers, there is little motivation to become a monk or a nun. You would be seen as a failure, or even as someone who is as good as dead—someone who can no longer enjoy life. People would be shocked by your decision. They would probably send someone respectable, maybe even a priest, to help you reconsider your choice. Because you could have been so much more. You could have accomplished extraordinary things. But now, you are unrealized potential and wasted talent.

That is not what the idea of a good life looks like. The idea of the good life is a product in itself, sold in many shops. Especially now, it is promoted on our platforms. The good life is the celebrity life. The good life is to retire early. To make it up there, by any means necessary. Instagram celebrities have become the determinants of the idea of a good life, and we follow them to imitate them, to become just like them. They are the new saints, and our phones are like icons that point toward them.

Our idea of a good life has been immanentized. It has everything to do with the world. It is about making it in life and being up there. Transcendental is not something to imitate after but something foolish and unworthy.

If we asked Karl Marx, the father of socialism, what a human being is fundamentally, he would say that humans are material beings, shaped by their material conditions. If we asked Descartes, he would answer that humans are thinking beings defined by consciousness and thought. But if we asked today’s social media platforms the same question, their answer might be very different: they would say that humans are scrolling beings.From the perspective of social media, we are what we scroll. Our identities are increasingly interpreted through our patterns of attention. Show me what a person scrolls, and I will tell you who they are. In this sense, scrolling begins to resemble a new principle of existence.

“From the perspective of social media, we are what we scroll.”

Scrolling is not something that we do outside of the body but it has physiological and psychologial implication in a way how we experience reality.

Scrolling functions like a continuous sensory experience through which we feed our minds. If we extend the analogy and compare the algorithm to a kind of externalized mind, then liking, commenting, and sharing become signals that this algorithmic mind receives and processes. Over time, the platform compiles these signals, learns our preferences, and responds by curating our digital environment.

If we extend the analogy and compare the algorithm to a kind of externalized mind, then liking, commenting, and sharing become signals that this algorithmic mind receives and processes.

This process happens gradually and often without our explicit awareness, yet it subtly shapes our habits, desires, and sense of self.The smartphone, which symbolically contains countless worlds within a single object, becomes a kind of portable universe. Although it is a material device, its constant presence influences not only our psychology but also our physiology — our attention spans, sleep patterns, and bodily rhythms. In this way, the digital and the material intertwine: the act of scrolling is not merely a virtual activity but a lived, embodied experience that participates in shaping who we are.

The smartphone, which symbolically contains countless worlds within a single object, becomes a kind of portable universe.

In the book of the prophet Hosea, there is a phrase that occurs repeatedly when God wants to remind His people that He was the one who rescued them from their slavery. He says, "I am the Lord your God from the land of Egypt." Since the people have forgotten their God and turned their faces to worship other things, it seems that God wanted to evoke some memory as an identity marker, reminding them that it was He who rescued them while they were slaves. These words are meant to serve as a shock to remind them of who they are so that they can leave their messy lives and return to God.

In his Hermeneutics, the German philosopher Gadamer developed a theory of understanding that occurs in the fusion of two horizons: the horizon of the things we want to interpret and our own horizon, which includes our experiences, culture, and traditions. When people try to understand something new, they do not start from scratch; rather, they seek to make sense of their present in light of their past experiences and traditions. Therefore, understanding does not occur in a vacuum but through negotiation with the past. This is what God is trying to do with His people, reminding them of their identity by pointing to specific events in their lives so that they can figure out who they really are and live up to those standards. This constant reminder in the phrase "I am the God who brought you out of the land of Egypt" compels them to interpret their lives not from a new perspective but from past experiences.

When I find myself in difficult positions in seminary, unsure of what to believe or which position to take, I don't simply start from where I am now and make quick decisions. Instead, I begin from my past experiences and knowledge. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by numerous theories and suffocated by the weight of it all, so I try to revisit the time when my mom taught me about Christianity and the Word of God. This helps me ground myself, providing a preliminary understanding that enables me to negotiate new knowledge and find my way forward, rather than starting in a vacuum and feeling lost. Reflecting on the stories, testimonies, and teachings I know keeps me anchored in my faith journey. I prefer not to abandon the past by merely dismissing it as outdated; rather, engaging seriously with it helps me retain my identity and understand who I am in this world.

As a student, I engage with the West not just superficially, but at the core of its reality—not based on what people think Europe is, but on what Europeans themselves believe to be true, including their history. When someone migrates to another part of the world in adulthood, it is really difficult to settle in. Most of the time, immigrants make one of two choices:
One – they find their community and stay close to it.
Two – they abandon their past and try to start a new life.

¨…because I wasn’t made for this part of the world.¨


The second option seems almost impossible, even though many try—or pretend—to do it. I personally tried the second option, and I struggled with it mentally. After I arrived, I didn’t join my community church; instead, I started attending an international church. I knew only a few people from my home country and decided to immerse myself fully in the Western world. But this turned out to be somewhat of a disaster, because I wasn’t made for this part of the world.

No matter how adaptable human beings are, there is always a lingering sense of strangeness. I come from a very communal culture—we do things together, and we spend time together. Sadness and happiness aren’t individual expressions of emotion, but shared experiences. In my culture, it's almost taboo to be lonely. But where I currently live, loneliness is one of the biggest problems and the people seems made peace with it.

¨I’m not necessarily criticizing this culture—just reflecting on it.¨

I’m not necessarily criticizing this culture—just reflecting on it. In many third-world countries, problems are dealt with communally, and that’s how we stay sane longer. My problems aren’t just mine; they also belong to my friends and family. We talk about them, we joke about them, we cry over them. Finding someone to talk to isn’t a struggle. It’s common to see people talking to strangers in public. That’s how we cope—with conversations. We maintain our sanity by discovering if what affects us also affects others. I don’t have to suffer alone in this world. If I were meant to, God would have created me alone.

¨we build our lives around them, and we act out the stories we’ve been told throughout our lives.¨

I also find it difficult to be so far removed from the narrative I grew up with. Human beings are narrative creatures. We remember things through stories, we build our lives around them, and we act out the stories we’ve been told throughout our lives. The Western world has largely rejected narratives. Hume mocked biblical stories and dismissed them in pursuit of empirical truth, labeling them as superstitions. Postmodernists, in turn, often reject stories and history altogether, arguing that they are tools of oppression and power.

¨all a story does is ground us in a confusing world and help us keep our compass.¨

The result of this is confusion and frustration. People no longer know who they are; instead, they are encouraged to find their own truth and live by it—which is one of the most difficult things to do. In my culture, stories exist to guide us in how to act in the world. Of course, some of them may not be factually true. But it’s not about whether the stories are real—it’s about what they do to us. Sometimes, all a story does is ground us in a confusing world and help us keep our compass. That’s why, when people migrate, they look for others with whom they can share and cherish these stories with or find their own people to remain sane by speaking their language, eating their food and gossiping why the place they´re currently living is weird. There is a kind of relief people experience when they talk about shared experiences. The kind of relief knowing that they´re not alone in this crazy world.

The last thing I want to do with this reflection is to criticize Western culture or how it has progressed. I’m sure a Westerner would also feel very out of place in Africa—and that’s totally fine.

Subscribe now

Hey, I am Meheretab I´m here reflecting so that I won´t be insane.

A blinking cursor on a fresh blank page can be intimidating for even seasoned writers. Here are some tips from our Partnerships team on how to go about your first Substack post:

1. Why this, why now

Tell your readers why you are launching this space. What brought you here and what inspired you to do it now. Think of it as a mini personal manifesto.

2. What kind of community are you looking to build here

You are not just starting a newsletter when you start a Substack, you are starting a community. You are inviting people to subscribe to your thinking. What kind of space will this be?

3. Be specific

Readers love clarity. Be clear when you explain what they should expect: how often will you be posting? Can they expect certain posts on specific days? What will the free subscribers get? What does a paid subscription buy them? (You can list these benefits in bullets.)

4. Use an image and “subscribe” buttons

A picture will look nicer when you share the post on your social media (click the image icon in the editor to search for copyright-free photos), and it will give color to your archive as you build it.

[EDIT ME]“Subscribe” buttons (found in your editor under “Buttons'“) will make it easy for new readers to subscribe to your newsletter with one click.[EDIT ME]

5. Ignore our advice

There is no one true way to go about building a Substack. This is your playground, experiment with it. If you’re having fun, your readers will too.

(But trust us on the “subscribe” buttons!)

Subscribe now