Be Healed!Trading Religion for Philosophy

When I was a Christian I was taught to bring my pain, confusion, and doubt to the foot of the cross. “You can be healed,” I was told. “If you have faith, God will make a way.”

But the promised healing never came. When my faith-filled prayers were answered with silence, the reassuring comments of “It’s all part of God’s plan” started to sound like empty rhetoric. For that reason and many others I eventually left Christianity, carrying a burden of spiritual scaring.

Now what?

Seek psychological help? Eliminate my magical thinking by actually studying science? I tried those paths, and they did help. However, somewhere along the way, I quietly, curiously—stumbled onto the writings of modern and ancient philosophers. I mostly skipped the dry texts presented by academia, more drawn to  contemporary writers who are bringing philosophy alive.

When I think of medicine, I often picture pills, prescriptions, or white-coated professionals poking at problems with stethoscopes. But long before hospitals and pharmacies, I learned that people turned to something else entirely when life grew painful, confusing, or unbearable: philosophy.

The Greek word philosophia means "love of wisdom," and in the classical world, it wasn't just an abstract intellectual pursuit. It was a form of therapy—a way to treat the illnesses of the soul: anxiety, anger, grief, arrogance, and despair.

Socrates, the Street Doctor

Socrates, famously annoying and famously wise, saw himself as a kind of midwife—not of babies, but of ideas. He believed that people often live in contradiction, suffering from confusion about what really matters. Through questioning, he helped others deliver their own truths. His medicine was dialogue. His diagnosis of the primary source of stress and anxiety? Self-deception.

He once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Today, we might rephrase that: The unexamined life is a source of chronic stress.

Stoicism: Prescriptions for Peace

The Stoics took the idea of philosophy as therapy and built a system around it. Epictetus, a former slave turned teacher, taught that suffering stems not from events themselves, but from our judgments about them. Sound familiar? It’s the ancient version of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT).

Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor and dedicated Stoic, used writing as a form of self-treatment. His Meditations are a kind of philosophical journal, filled with reminders like:

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 6.8 (Gregory Hays translation)

"You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength. --- Meditations 6.8 (Modern Paraphrase)

Epicureans: Treating the Fear of Death

Epicurus, often misunderstood as a hedonist, actually taught moderation and the pursuit of peace. One of his most famous therapeutic insights was this:

“Death is nothing to us, for when we exist, death is not present, and when death is present, we do not exist.”

His goal with this idea was to cure the fear of death. He saw fear of death as a parasite in the mind, preventing us from living fully. Remove the fear, and you restore the patient to life.

Modern Echoes: Therapy and Existential Medicine

Fast forward to the 20th century, and we find Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, developing logotherapy—"therapy through meaning." Influenced by both Stoicism and existentialism, Frankl argued that suffering becomes bearable when we can find meaning in it.

Similarly, Albert Camus’s famous declaration—that we must imagine Sisyphus happy—offers a form of antidote. Life may be absurd, but we can choose how to face it. Philosophy doesn't remove the rock, but it strengthens the soul to carry it.

Philosophy Isn’t a Cure-All—But It Helps

Let’s be clear: philosophy won’t fix a broken leg or cure a virus. But it can help you deal with grief, uncertainty, moral confusion, or existential dread. It asks hard questions not to make life harder, but to make it more deeply understood—and in that understanding, more bearable.

In an age overflowing with information, quick fixes, and wellness trends, philosophy reminds us to pause. To examine. To reflect. Not every wound needs a bandage—some need wisdom.

And, unlike Christianity, philosophy doesn’t ask me to believe in miracles. Philosophy also doesn’t offer salvation. It doesn’t promise that suffering has any divine purpose. But it does offer tools—mental frameworks—to help me face reality with clearer eyes and a stronger spine.

Christianity’s Position: “Be Healed!”

In my Christian experience suffering was typically labeled as:

• A test of my faith, or 
• A consequence of sin (mine or generally in the world), or 
•  A mysterious part of God’s plan

The cliché Christian mantra repeated over and over in various ways and by various Christian leaders: Trust. Pray. Repent. Surrender. Healing and relief will come—maybe now, possibly later, but certainly in heaven.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” —Matthew 11:28

For me that verse was a comfort. Until…

• the burden stubbornly remained, unwavering and firm. 
• the promised rest eluded me. 
• I finally realized I was waiting for something that was never, ever going to happen.

Philosophy's Position: "Be Wise!"

Stoicism tells me that the world is unpredictable, but my responses to what life throws at me are in my power to master.

“It’s not the things that happen to us that upset us, but our opinions about those things.” —Epictetus

Epicureanism offers peace not through indulgence, but through simplicity and the release of irrational fears—especially the fear of death.

Existentialism stares straight into the void of the Universe and says: Life may not have inherent meaning, but I can create my own.

No supernatural healing. No forgiveness from above. Just clarity. Responsibility. Practice. And strangely enough—an attainable peace.

The Shift: From Receiver to Practitioner

Leaving Christianity meant giving up my identity as someone who is redeemed, saved and watched over.

What philosophy offered me instead was and is the identity of the Prokopton—a Stoic-in-training.

Someone who is learning. Someone who is practicing.

Not perfect, but progressing.

It’s a subtle but profound shift:

• From “God will heal me” → to “I can strengthen myself.”

• From “This is part of His plan” → to “What can I learn from this?”

• From “Surrender” → to “Engage with reality.”

Going Forward

Philosophy doesn’t numb me with hope. It sharpens me with insight. It doesn’t erase pain, but it helps me integrate it. I no longer ask, “Why me?” I now ask, “What now?”

I’m not waiting for rescue. I am my own guide.

For the Weary Ex-Christian

If you’re still carrying the emotional residue of faith—still flinching at old promises, still aching for something solid—philosophy won’t save your soul.

But it can stabilize your mind. 

It can calm your heart. 

It can teach you how to live, honestly and courageously, in a world that doesn’t offer guarantees.

Final Thoughts

• We don’t need a miracle. We need a method.

• We don’t need to be healed. We need to be wise.

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