Narrator: Imagine being caught in a riptide. The water, once a source of pleasure, becomes a terrifying force, pulling you away from the safety of the shore. Your every instinct screams to fight, to swim with all your might back toward the beach. But as any lifeguard will tell you, that is the most dangerous thing you can do. Fighting the current only leads to exhaustion and drowning. The only way to survive is to stop struggling, to relax, and to let the current carry you until it releases its grip. This harrowing scenario serves as a powerful metaphor for a hidden struggle in modern life. We are caught in cultural currents that demand constant effort, performance, and self-justification, and our frantic attempts to swim against them are leaving us spiritually and emotionally exhausted. In his book, Seculosity, author David Zahl argues that this struggle is the defining feature of our age, and he provides a map to understand the currents that pull at us and offers a surprising path to survival.

Narrator: Zahl begins by challenging the notion that society is becoming less religious. While traditional church attendance may be declining, the fundamental human impulse for meaning, purpose, and justification has not vanished. Instead, it has been rebranded. He introduces the term "seculosity" to describe this phenomenon: religiosity directed horizontally at earthly things, rather than vertically toward the divine.

At the heart of this impulse is a universal human craving for what Zahl calls "enoughness"—the deep-seated need to feel worthy, valued, and justified. We are all, in our own way, trying to prove that our lives matter. This drive for righteousness, or feeling "good enough," becomes the "controlling story" of our lives. It’s the lens through which we organize our priorities and the standard by which we measure our worth. The problem, Zahl argues, is that when we seek this validation from the world, we are signing up for a game we can never win. As one poignant quote in the book states, "People are suffering and dying under the torture of the fantasy self they’re failing to become." This relentless pursuit turns life into a courtroom where we are perpetually on trial, desperate to earn a verdict of "enough."

Narrator: Nowhere is this desperate performance more visible than in the seculosity of busyness and work. In modern culture, the default answer to "How are you?" is no longer "Fine," but "Busy." Busyness has become a status symbol, a public declaration of our importance and value. As Zahl notes, "keeping up with the Joneses now means trying to out-schedule them." This culture of constant activity is fueled by what he terms "performancism"—the unspoken assumption that our worth is identical to our accomplishments. Your résumé, in this view, isn’t just a part of your identity; it is your identity.

This mindset turns work into a refuge from the messiness of life and a primary source of self-worth. The book tells the story of Erin Callan, who rose to become the CFO of Lehman Brothers and was named "the most powerful woman on Wall Street." She devoted her entire life to her job, sacrificing relationships and personal well-being. Her identity was completely consumed by her professional success. When the 2008 financial crisis hit and Lehman Brothers collapsed, her world shattered. It was only after losing the career that had defined her that she was forced to find a new, more sustainable source of identity. Callan's story is a dramatic example of how the seculosity of work promises fulfillment but often leads to burnout and a profound loss of self when the performance inevitably ends.

Narrator: The search for "enoughness" also infiltrates our most intimate relationships. Zahl argues that romance has become a form of "apocalyptic romance," where we look to a partner to be our savior—the one person who will fulfill all our spiritual and moral needs. This places an impossible burden on our partners and turns relationships into a performance. We carry an "eighth-grade" mentality into our love lives, constantly seeking validation to feel okay. As Zahl puts it, "You cannot get close to someone who is using you to prop up their enoughness."

This same dynamic plays out in parenting, which has become a high-stakes arena for parental self-justification. A child's success—in school, in sports, in life—is seen as a direct reflection of the parents' worth. This anxiety has spawned a massive "parenting-industrial complex" of books and experts that often multiply anxiety rather than pacifying it. The book points to the tragic story of Emily Rapp, whose son Ronan was born with a terminal illness. This devastating diagnosis gave her a "terrible freedom from expectations." She was no longer waiting for Ronan to make her proud or expecting a return on her investment. She was freed to simply love him for who he was, not for what he could do. Her experience offers a glimpse of an alternative: a love that is not contingent on performance, a grace that cherishes being over doing.

Narrator: Even our plates and our politics have become arenas for self-justification. Food choices are no longer just about nutrition; they are moral statements. As writer Alice Waters claims, "The right choice saves the world." This moralism has created a new eating disorder, Orthorexia, an obsession with "righteous" eating that can lead to malnourishment and social isolation. The shame associated with "bad" food choices is captured perfectly in a story from comedian Jim Gaffigan, who, when caught at a McDonald's, felt compelled to joke that he was there to meet a prostitute rather than admit he was there to eat.

Politics, similarly, now functions as a primary source of belonging, righteousness, and meaning. Political affiliation has become tribal, creating deep divisions in society. The book recounts a Halloween night in 2016 where a single "Make America Great Again" sign in a liberal neighborhood caused neighbors to treat the house as if it were haunted, steering their children away in fear. This tribalism is fueled by what Zahl calls "virtue signaling" and public outrage, which function as guilt-management systems. By condemning the perceived sins of the other side, we feel righteous ourselves. However, Zahl argues that politics, while important, cannot save us. It cannot solve the deeper, internal problems of the human heart.

Narrator: If the problem is a relentless, exhausting pursuit of "enoughness," then the solution cannot be to simply try harder. This is like fighting the riptide. The book concludes that the only way out is to stop swimming and be rescued. For Zahl, this rescue is grace—the Christian concept of unearned, unconditional love and forgiveness. While seculosity is a religion of law, demanding performance and perfection, grace is a religion of gift. It declares that you are already "enough" not because of what you have done, but because of what has been done for you.

This is not a call for inaction, but a reorientation of our motivation. Grace frees us from the need to justify ourselves, allowing us to act out of love and gratitude rather than fear and anxiety. The book points to the model of Alcoholics Anonymous, which begins not with a plan for self-improvement, but with an admission of powerlessness. It is in acknowledging our failure and our need for a higher power that true community and healing begin. Grace, Zahl argues, is the only force powerful enough to pull us from the riptide of seculosity and set our feet on solid ground.

Narrator: Ultimately, Seculosity delivers a profound diagnosis of the modern condition: we are all desperately seeking a sense of worth, but we are looking for it in all the wrong places. The relentless pursuit of "enoughness" through career, family, politics, or wellness is a spiritual dead end that breeds anxiety and exhaustion. The book's most critical takeaway is that the antidote to this frantic "doing" is not another to-do list, but the radical acceptance of "done." It is the message of grace, which says our value is not something to be earned, but a gift to be received.

This leaves us with a challenging question. Where in our own lives are we fighting the riptide? Where are we striving to perform, perfect, and produce in a desperate attempt to feel worthy? Recognizing that struggle is the first step toward accepting that perhaps the rescue we're looking for isn't found in our own strength, but in a power, and a love, that lies completely outside of ourselves.