Chapter 3

So far in this series, we have explored the idea of Prophetic Imagination - the ability to see beyond the limitations of the present moment and toward the deeper reality of God’s dream of restoration, of shalom: peace, goodness, and wholeness between each of us and God, each of us and ourselves, each of us and all others, and each of us and the earth itself. We said that learning to see through this lens is essential if we hope not only to understand that dream, but also to embody it in the way that we live.

From there, we turned to the principle of Love or Fear as the two primary forces that shape our inner lives and influence what we think, feel, and do. We described love as rooted in a sense of abundance – expansive, creative, hopeful, inclusive, and life-giving. Fear, by contrast, emerges from a sense of scarcity, expressing itself through exclusion, isolation, defensiveness, and pessimism. I also shared a simple self-reflection practice – very creatively titled ‘The Love or Fear Reflection’ :) – that may help to discern whether a thought, feeling, or action is rooted in love or fear, and when it may be necessary to re-center toward God’s dream for the world.

Now we move to another important principle, one closely connected to fear and deeply rooted in our most instinctive survival responses. I am calling this chapter, ‘Anxiety, Scapegoats, and the Lizard Brain.’ Just as with the Love or Fear principle, once you begin to recognize the scapegoat mechanism, you won’t be able to unsee it. It’s everywhere: within yourself, within communities, within politics, within your church/religion, and throughout the world. The hope, of course, is not that this would make us more cynical or despairing, but that once we begin to see how anxiety fuels comparison, blame, exclusion, and division, we would gain a new lens for understanding ourselves and the world around us. And in the process, become free to choose the way of love.

Here are some questions that we’ll wrestle with as we move through this chapter:

Let’s jump into it, friends ...

ANXIETY, SCAPEGOATS, AND THE LIZARD-BRAIN

What I’m learning is that anxiety is not an exception to the human experience – it underlies all of it! To be human is to live with uncertainty, vulnerability, and the awareness that much of life is beyond our control. As a result, we all develop ways of managing the anxiety that we carry. The intensity of that anxiety varies from person to person, shaped by our families, life experiences, wounds, trauma, resources, and the healing work that we have – or have not – done. Some people have a greater capacity to remain grounded in the midst of stress, while others are more easily overwhelmed. Yet beneath these differences lies a common reality: our minds and bodies are continually seeking a sense of equilibrium, safety, and peace.

At the root of all human conflict and disconnection are a few deeply human – and interconnected – realities that are important to this discussion. The first is the ego, which is the part of us that tries to create a sense of identity, safety, and control. In healthy ways, it helps us navigate the world, but when driven by fear, it tends toward becoming defensive, reactive, and deeply attached to being right, secure, or superior. Next is the nervous system, the body’s built-in survival system, which is constantly scanning for safety or danger. When we experience anxiety – whether from stress, uncertainty, shame, fear, or emotional pain – the nervous system shifts into protection mode. In that state, we often become reactive, fearful, tribal, or emotionally overwhelmed. One of the ways human beings have historically tried to relieve this anxiety is through scapegoating: projecting fear, blame, or frustration onto another person or group and treating them as the problem.

The theologian-philosopher, Rene Girard, argued that this scapegoating mechanism operates ‘almost outside our consciousness’ as an instinctive and deeply human reaction – a primitive survival response rooted in fear and insecurity. It arises quickly, often before reason, compassion, or reflection have time to intervene. Most of us participate in it with little awareness that we are even doing it. No amount of education, power, wealth, intelligence, or religious language seems to free human beings from its pull. We can see its influence everywhere, including within governments, institutions, churches, communities, and our own personal relationships. The scapegoating impulse exists on a continuum: from quietly thinking poorly of another person or group of persons, to gossip, ridicule, exclusion, and judgment, and ultimately to emotional harm, physical violence, oppression, and open warfare.

It is the primary cause of all division, violence, and suffering in the human story.

At its core, scapegoating is the pattern of elevating ourselves by diminishing someone else. We create a sense of safety, identity, or superiority by defining another person or group as ‘other.’ And if we are honest, most of us can recognize how naturally this tendency appears in our own lives. Our scapegoats may be individuals at school, at work, in our neighborhoods, or even entire groups that we’ve been taught to fear or distrust. It may be based on race, nationality, gender, religion, politics, social class, physical appearance, disability, or any visible difference that unsettles our anxious nervous systems. Many of us can remember these dynamics from childhood: the child who was excluded for being different in some way, or perhaps the painful experience of being the one excluded. Nations scapegoat other nations. Political movements scapegoat their opponents. Religious groups scapegoat outsiders. Immigrants, minorities, and the poor are scapegoated everywhere, in every age. Human cultures have even developed formal scapegoat rituals in which collective anxiety is cast onto a person or animal. The pattern is ancient, deeply embedded within us, and tragically common – there’s even a family role titled, ‘scapegoat.’ We all have scapegoats.

When anxiety is driving us, the ego becomes deeply invested in proving that we are okay. One of the ways it does this is by comparing ourselves to others and looking for evidence that we are somehow superior. We may take pride in our appearance, intelligence, accomplishments, wealth, abilities, status, or another trait that distinguishes us from those around us. Sometimes this takes subtle forms; other times it can be quite visible. We may seek attention, admiration, or recognition through what we own, how we present ourselves, or the risks that we take. Beneath these behaviors is the same underlying question: Am I ok? When anxiety whispers that we are not, the ego often responds by trying to elevate itself above others in order to regain a sense of worth, significance, or security.

The scapegoating impulse is not directed only toward those we perceive as weaker or less fortunate than ourselves, though. Often, those who appear more successful, attractive, talented, powerful, or accomplished can feel even more threatening. If my sense of worth depends on comparison, then someone else’s strength may feel like a challenge to my own value. In response, the anxious ego begins searching for flaws, failures, or weaknesses that can restore the balance. We can see this dynamic everywhere, particularly in our fascination with the struggles of public figures. Entire industries thrive on reporting the mistakes, scandals, setbacks, and perceived failures of celebrities and leaders. Why does this attract so much attention? Because, at some level, seeing another person fail can temporarily soothe our own insecurities and restore our nervous system balance. Their stumble reassures us that they are not so different from us after all, and the anxious ego finds comfort when those it has placed above itself are, as the saying goes, ‘brought down a peg or two.’

And so, the ego’s strategy is comparison in both directions. It looks down on others to feel superior and looks up at others with envy and resentment. Both movements are attempts to manage anxiety through comparison rather than a secure sense of belovedness. Both are attempts to answer the same anxious ego question: Am I okay?

Social media provides a fascinating window into the ways human beings respond to anxiety. Consider how often online conversations become less about understanding and more about proving, defending, correcting, or dismissing. A person encounters a post that challenges something they believe, value, or identify with, and their nervous system registers a threat. The result may be a thoughtful and gracious response, or it may be sarcasm, anger, ridicule, or personal attack. Much depends on the person’s level of self-awareness, emotional health, and ability to remain grounded when challenged.

In many cases, the reaction is not really about the topic being discussed. It is about the discomfort that arises when our certainty is questioned. When we feel uncertain, exposed, or threatened, we naturally seek ways to restore a sense of stability and control. One way the anxious ego does this is by trying to establish superiority: I know more. I am right. They are wrong. Another way is by diminishing the person who triggered the discomfort. In both cases, the goal is the same – to relieve anxiety by regaining a sense of certainty, control, and safety.

The same dynamic can occur among those who agree with the original author. A critical comment may trigger anxiety in supporters who then feel compelled to rush to the author’s defense. Often, both sides believe they are protecting truth, but beneath the surface is a shared struggle to restore certainty and emotional equilibrium. What begins as a discussion of ideas can quickly become an attempt to regulate anxiety. This same dynamic translates into politics, our churches, and every other area of life.

We often label people who make provocative or hostile comments as ‘haters’ or ‘trolls.’ While some individuals intentionally seek conflict – likely for a dopamine or similiar reward – it can be helpful to remember that behind all reactive behavior is a human carrying fear, insecurity, hurt, or unresolved pain. This does not excuse harmful conduct, nor does it mean we should tolerate abuse. It simply reminds us that beneath the anger, defensiveness, and posturing is often the same anxious human condition that affects all of us. It’s the ‘thing beneath the thing’ – the true reason for the behavior. The more aware that we become of these dynamics in ourselves, the more compassion we may find for others – and the more freedom we will have to respond from love rather than fear.

In my own journey, I have been part of religious communities where fear expressed itself through an ‘us verses them’ mentality. Certain groups of people were viewed with suspicion or treated as threats, including ‘liberals’, LGBTQ+ folks, immigrants, women, followers of other religions, and even Christians from other streams or traditions. Looking back, I can see how easy it is for any religious community to fall into this pattern. We affirm that God is infinite, mysterious, and beyond our full comprehension, yet we can become remarkably certain that our understanding is the correct- and only – one and that those who see things differently must somehow be wrong or dangerous. When anxiety and fear take hold, scapegoating can provide a powerful sense of belonging and certainty. And when those dynamics are reinforced by a community and their leaders, they become even more pervasive.

Religious communities can be particularly vulnerable to this because faith speaks to our deepest questions of meaning, identity, and belonging. When our beliefs – our certainty – feel threatened, our nervous system often reacts as though our safety is itself at risk. In those moments, it can become tempting to baptize our fear and anger with religious language, convincing ourselves that God is on our side and against those we oppose. History shows us how easily verbal, psychological, social, economic, and even physical forms of violence can be justified when people believe they are acting with divine approval. We’re seeing this today. This is why humility is such an essential spiritual virtue. Whenever we become convinced that God fully endorses our hostility toward others, we should pause and ask whether we are being guided by love or fear.

The irony, particularly for Christians, is that Jesus consistently challenged the scapegoating impulse. He stood with those who were excluded, condemned, and pushed to the margins, and ultimately became the victim of the scapegoating process himself. The One who taught forgiveness, reconciliation, and love for enemies was rejected and condemned by a coalition of anxious religious and political systems seeking to preserve their own stability. For this reason, many thinkers, including Rene Girard, saw the Christian story as a profound exposure of the scapegoat mechanism and an invitation beyond it.

We can especially observe these dynamics in contemporary theological debates. Consider how emotionally charged discussions can become when long-held beliefs are questioned. Topics such as the nature of hell, judgment, salvation, or the idea of God’s ultimate reconciliation of all things often generate reactions that seem to reach beyond mere intellectual disagreement. While convictions certainly matter, the intensity of some responses reveals something deeper: anxiety about certainty, identity, and belonging. When a belief has provided us with a sense of meaning, order, or security, any challenge to that belief can be deeply unsettling. The nervous system experiences such challenges as a threat, prompting us to protect what feels familiar and safe. Sometimes this protection takes the form of ‘correcting’ those who disagree with us; other times it appears as exclusion, ridicule, or public condemnation. Throughout history, fear-driven efforts to preserve certainty have escalated into persecution and violence. The inquisitions of the past continue on in today’s age of public shaming and social ostracism, serving as reminders of how easily anxiety can move from the personal to the communal when we feel that our deepest assumptions – our certainty – are under threat.

It is important to note, again, that this does not mean that convictions are unimportant. Rather, it reminds us how powerful the scapegoating mechanism can be. Sometimes we find it easier to imagine a God who validates our divisions than a God whose love extends even to those we struggle to accept. Recognizing that tendency within ourselves is an invitation to greater honesty, humility, and transformation as we learn to move from fear toward love.

Earlier, I suggested that scapegoating lies at the root of all the division and violence we see in the world. The pattern has been universally consistent. First, a person or group is identified as the source of the problem. They are blamed for what is wrong, portrayed as a threat, and increasingly defined by negative labels – animal, monster, and the like. Over time, they are no longer seen as fully human neighbors with hopes, fears, and dignity equal to our own. Instead, they become ‘the problem’, ‘the enemy’, or some other category that separates them from us. This process of dehumanization makes it easier for us to justify attitudes and actions on a continuum of violence.

These dynamics operate at both personal and societal levels, but they become especially powerful when they are intertwined with moral or religious certainty. When I am convinced not only that I am right, but that God is unquestionably on my side and against those I oppose, the scapegoating mechanism gains extraordinary force. History offers many examples of this. In Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler and his followers blamed Jewish people and other marginalized groups for a wide range of social, economic, and cultural problems. They portrayed them as threats to the nation, stripped them of their humanity, and used language designed to place them outside the circle of moral concern. Many who participated in or supported these ideas believed they were serving a noble cause that God had endorsed. The results were, of course, catastrophic.

While this example represents an extreme case, the underlying pattern is always the same: identify a group to blame, dehumanize them and portray them as less worthy of compassion, and then justify harmful treatment toward them. Whether the treatment takes the form of ridicule, exclusion, discrimination, economic oppression, emotional abuse, or physical violence, the logic remains the same.

Most of us do not imagine ourselves participating in such things. Yet as we explored in the previous chapter, Love or Fear, every act of diminishing another person moves us, however slightly, away from God’s dream of goodness, peace, and wholeness among all. Scapegoating does not begin with violence; it begins with the subtle belief that some people matter less than others. The invitation before us is to notice that tendency within ourselves and to choose a different path – one rooted not in fear and separation, but in love, dignity, and belonging

LOVE OR FEAR REFLECTION QUESTIONS

In Chapter 2, while exploring the idea that love and fear are the two primary forces shaping human behavior, I shared a short self-reflection model. This exercise can also be a helpful tool in considering the dynamics of anxiety and scapegoating in your own world. Simply refer back to it, and then use the questions below to notice how anxiety may move you to fear, which, if left unchecked, would then lead to scapegoating others:

As we bring this chapter to a close, we can begin to see how deeply connected the themes of love, fear, anxiety, and scapegoating truly are. Fear manifests as anxiety, and then anxiety seeks relief by identifying a person or a group to blame. In this way, the cycle of division and violence that has shaped all of human history begins with the human heart. Yet this is not a cause for despair; it is a reason for hope. What we can see, we can change. As we become more aware of these patterns in ourselves, we gain the freedom to choose a different way – the way of love, compassion, courage, and solidarity. Every act of awareness, every moment of choosing love over fear, becomes a small participation in the healing of the world. The journey begins within each of us, but it never ends there. It expands outward, touching our relationships, our communities, and ultimately contributing to God’s ongoing work of restoration, reconciliation, and shalom for all.

BLESSING

And so, as we pursue beauty and God’s dream of peace, goodness, and wholeness between each of us and God, each of us and ourselves, each of us and all others, and each of us and the earth, may we find the courage to face the anxieties that arise within us without turning against ourselves or others. May we gently tend to our wounds and fears by whatever healing means we have available, while resisting the temptation to make others carry what belongs to us. And in doing so, may we become people of compassion, reconciliation, and peace for our hurting world.

Amen.

Coming soon - ‘Chapter 4: In My Image.’ Subscribe for free so you don’t miss it!