Ozempic’s gnostic temptations

Journalist Suzy Weiss doesn’t need Ozempic. She admitted as much in a piece at The Free Press recently. “But I want it,” she said.

Weiss, a young, petite woman who frets about nearing the “upper edge” of her “recommended weight range,” said she nevertheless ordered the drug—FDA-approved for the treatment of Type-2 diabetes, but now widely used off-label for weight loss—through the mail. After a few weeks of injecting herself daily, Weiss said she felt “prettier, happier, and more confident.” She knew she didn’t “need” this for medical reasons. “I also don’t need a nice car, a fulfilling job, or an apartment with great light… [but] I want them, whether they are hard-earned or fall into my lap. Is it so wrong to admit that?”

Weiss’ piece was refreshingly honest. But it was clear she wasn’t quite at peace with what she’s doing. She couldn’t seem to figure out how to justify her discomfort. Without knowing her personally, I have a theory: She lacks a grounding theology of the body.

I’m not talking about questions of human sexuality, as in the late Pope John Paul II’s manifesto. Rather, by “theology of the body,” I mean here a reference point for answering the question why we have bodies at all. What are they, spiritually speaking? Do they “carry” the “real” us, or are they us? And what should we do with them?

How we answer these questions will come to bear on how we use GLP-1s like Ozempic. According to the medical literature, GLP-1s lead to weight loss not by magically “melting” away pounds of flesh like acid, but by curbing the appetite. Essentially, they communicate to your body that you’ve eaten when you haven’t.

I’ve no intention of issuing a blanket prescription (see what I did there) either for or against Ozempic or similar drugs. But as to the use of them for non-medical and cosmetic reasons, as in Weiss’s case, it’s not difficult to imagine the dangers, particularly for people with eating disorders or body dysmorphia. Setting those concerns aside, I want to deal fairly with the question Weiss is really asking, which is a theological one: If an otherwise healthy person wants to be thinner without having to deal with the “food noise” (ie., feelings of hunger, craving, or low energy), why shouldn’t she take Ozempic?

Let’s start with the common ground Christians might share with Weiss. Whatever our philosophy, our bodies inescapably shape our experience of life in the world. We feel them physically. Their shape and condition also impact how others perceive (and therefore behave towards) us. Some of this is morally neutral; sometimes it’s unfair, culturally conditioned (as in standards of beauty), or painful. So it’s not unreasonable to concern ourselves with how our bodies feel and look. (Too often as a young woman, I was taught in church that to concern myself with my appearance at all was shallow and sinful; a violation of the psalm about the fleeting, vain nature of physical beauty. But was I supposed to pretend, I often wondered, that this body wasn’t here? That others weren’t seeing it, too? And why should I want to pretend?)

Secondly, Christians can agree that doing anything (i.e. weight loss) the hardest way possible is not always, by default, the morally better way. Neither is it morally wrong to admire or desire things that we don’t strictly, biologically, need.

But here’s where Christians might diverge from Weiss’s conclusions: God made our bodies and called them good. He didn’t give them to us as a crutch or a punishment, or even as a mere veil or shadow of something truer. Adam and Eve were made as bodies even before sin entered the garden. Our bodies are an integral part of our image-bearing. Their physical vulnerabilities—our need for sleep, our need for food, sex—are mysterious, sure; but they are un-ignorable and essential components of them.

Some of those vulnerabilities may be results of the Fall, including sickness and aging. Perhaps the pain of hunger is a result of sin. But our physical need for food isn’t: God told Adam and Eve at the very beginning to “eat of any tree in the garden,” except the one.

I’m setting up the argument, here, that Christians should not “bio-hack” our way out of our good biological needs. To “trick” ourselves, whether our minds or our livers, out of needing food is to lie. It would also be a terrible waste. Food is delightful and enjoyable. It can be artistic and comforting, and a beautiful reminder of our shared dependence. It doesn’t always have to be that way; there’s nothing sacred about food itself, and no one has to get sentimental at every meal. But as our increasingly gnostic neighbors begin to ask questions like why we should still eat food if man can figure out a way to stay alive without it, we should answer like this: because God built our bodies to need food.

Whether or not we understand this fully, we can be certain that moving further away from this design is a path towards needless suffering. And that holds true even if—yea, verily, even if—we look really good walking away.