Peterson’s refusal to be pinned down on this question isn’t noble agnosticism. It’s self-preservation masquerading as mystery. It’s not doubt, not humility – it’s strategic shapeshifting. A calculated hedging of bets. It’s the anxiety of a man who knows that clarity can cost him audience numbers. That conviction draws lines. That once truth is named out loud, there’s no retreat; that you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube, and you can’t unring a bell.
This fact is not lost on the good doctor, which is why he circles continuously. He clouds. He talks of metaphysical realms and psychological utility. But when self-preservation begins to dictate public behaviour, it becomes a kind of possession in its own right. And it doesn’t turn men into prophets. It turns them into politicians.
Let me be clear: he doesn’t need to be a Christian to be worthy of respect. But he does need to be honest. Especially now, especially when his entire public persona is scaffolded around the Christian tradition. When he breaks into tears over Christ. When he urges men to live biblically. When his lectures edge closer and closer to sermons.
You cannot traffic in sacred meaning without ever stating your own. You cannot sell Christian archetypes while dodging Christian identity. You cannot turn the Bible into content and then refuse to say whether you believe a word of it. That’s not wisdom. That’s not right. You don’t get to bathe in the sacred for profit and then towel off when questioned. That’s cowardice.
The truth is, Peterson has become a preacher for a disenchanted generation. For better or worse, people believe him and look to him for answers. And when those people – broken, angry, searching – ask if he believes, they deserve more than weird word games.
If he said “Yes, I believe,” I’d respect the clarity. If he said “No, I don’t,” I’d respect the courage. If he said “I don’t know,” I’d respect the humility. But the stern-faced sexagenarian doesn’t say any of those things. What he offers instead is a maze of sophistry. You can’t build a church, fill it with seekers, light the candles, hand out hymnals, and then slink into the confessional and duck for cover when asked if you believe.
That’s not humility. That’s abdication. That’s spiritual cowardice. Jordan Peterson has told millions to shoulder the cross, to walk the narrow path and to act in an honest manner. But honesty requires a spine. And right now, all we’re getting is squirming.