I just read The Fault in Our Stars for the first time. I haven't seen the movie. The story's been hyped-up; my expectations were extremely high from over a year of positive media attention. Though it contains more beautifully-written passages than a typical YA novel, this book did not make me emote. I didn't have many strong feelings while reading it, and I didn't shed any tears, even though I feel things almost constantly, cry somewhat often in general, and the main thing I knew about it going in is that this book is supposed to break your heart and make you weep. So why didn't I cry? I decided it was because I cannot really relate to Hazel, the narrator. Her view on the world seems pretty diametrically opposed to mine. I wonder if 16-year-old me would have appreciated her extreme cynicism more. I'm sure I would've, since at that time I was being steeped in worldly ideas about sex and relationships, two relevant areas that I find little common ground with Hazel.
Throughout the book, Hazel makes much of the fact that believing in God is super stupid. She mocks religion, Christianity, encouragement, hope, and the Christian leader of her support group, who she thinks is sad and pathetic. But then when her own beliefs are revealed, they contradict her cynicism. First, she calls her father "fairly smart" when he says, "I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it--or my observation of it--is temporary?"
Later, Hazel says, "I was thinking about the universe wanting to be noticed, and how I had to notice it as best I could. I felt that I owed a debt to the universe that only my attention could repay, and also that I owed a debt to everybody who didn't get to be a person anymore and everyone who hadn't gotten to be a person yet."
This is about the best secular retelling of the Gospel I've ever heard. I realize that's a total oxymoron. The Gospel cannot be inferred (that's why we have the Bible--to put the necessary words to the story), but God's existence can be, if someone is open-minded as they observe nature and the large questions in the heart of humanity. "Owing a debt of attention to the universe" skips some crucial steps in the truth, but broadly speaking, there's overlap. Hazel's theory includes these aspects of the Gospel:
1. We are not self-made; we can and should give back and give forward.
2. Our value and our salvation are not in the work of our hands, not in what we can produce or bring about externally.
3. The path to bridging an unbridgeable gap of debt between ourselves and eternity begins with a mental shift and putting our attention in the right place.
4. There is a higher personal force out there that wants something from us; only persons "want," "reward," and "enjoy."
These two Bible verses (from the NIV) illustrate some of the overlap: "However, to the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness." (Romans 4:5). The word "credit" directly ties in with Hazel's term "debt." Attention is much more like trust and faith than it is like work. In a similar fashion, Jesus said, "The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent." (John 6:29) Keeping our eyes on Jesus (paying attention to Him) is the alpha and omega of living as a believer. Not paying attention to Jesus is the only sure way to avoid having our debt repaid. Jesus, in whom all things hold together (Colossians 1:17), which kind of sounds like the way a non-believer would understand the universe, which has its etymological origin in the Latin word for "all things."
Hazel's mention of owing a debt to other people, those who have gone before and those to come, sounds like the communion of saints, as well as Biblical commands to love one's neighbors. Romans 13:8 (NIV) explicitly uses the word "debt," saying "Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law." I think Hazel would agree that remembering someone who has died is an act of love toward that person. And I think she's saying that living well for the sake of those who cannot is an act of love, too. What other way would there be to pay a debt owed to both the dead and the not-yet alive?
To say the universe enjoys its elegance being observed reminds me of our call to praise God continually for who He is, which is partly seen through all His works, like nature and our elegant universe, not to mention humanity and the beauty of the human spirit. To say God wants to be noticed by us is an understatement. He wants and deserves to be outright worshiped. But the seed of the truth is present in Hazel's dad's comments.
When Hazel's dad asks, "Who am I... to tell the universe?" I completely agree. There's so much arrogance built in to a worldview that categorically denies higher intelligence than humans. Until we've lived forever and seen it all (and even the most staunch atheist/humanist in their right mind would not claim humans have always existed), let's not make statements as though we have the ability to know we're the smartest beings in the universe. Yuck, I feel gross just considering that. Humans can be very intelligent, yes, and wonderful at times, but who would even want to live in a universe where we, greedy, self-centered, short-sighted, lazy, irritable, forgetful, close to electing Donald Trump as the ruler of the free world, are the highest form of all existence?
In conclusion, I'm not sure what the author was going for. Maybe he realizes all this and it was intentional. I was simply struck by the incongruity between what Hazel openly scorns and what she seems to believe deep down, an incongruity of which she seems perfectly unaware.
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