In Pursuit Of The White Deer: Jordan Peterson And The Legend Of St. Eustace

Ever since Tammy Peterson entered the Catholic Church this Easter, most of Christendom has been engaged in a storm of speculation regarding Dr. Peterson’s spiritual state. Will he, too, follow his wife into the Catholic Church? What does he mean by his chary and seemingly evasive responses to the media storm of questions regarding his beliefs? 

And rather than contribute to the online fruitless speculation, I would like to follow up on my last essay which depicted Dr. Peterson as a modern-day St. Christopher. That essay illustrated Dr. Peterson’s role within Christendom. It is my hope that by relating the story of St. Eustace of Rome, I may shed light on Dr. Peterson’s journey within Christianity. The story of St. Eustace, the second-century Christian martyr, is the story of a man who, like Jordan Peterson, was a great seeker called to great works and great suffering. 

St. Eustace, who before his conversion was named Placidus, was a great Roman nobleman, a huntsman, and a knight. One day he went out hunting in the dark and mysterious forest outside of Rome. He was seeking more than wild beasts, more than excitement and adventure and danger, something which his tongue could not express in words and of which his mind could form no image. He rode alone, because the huntsman of the unknown must follow a path narrow as the confines of his own body, lonely as his own pain, dark as his own ignorance, and his way is his own way and cannot be shared by another. 

The beauty of the forest flowers enchanted him, the melodious birds in the branches sang to him, and the running that could not be seen of skipping beasts gladdened his way. But still, he did not know what he sought. 

But when at last, he saw it, there could be no mistake: he had found what he was seeking in the form of the most perfect white deer he had ever seen. For one moment, the flashing eyes of the white deer met Placidus’s, for one moment the proud head with its magnificent antlers reared proudly, for one moment the splendid body poised for flight. And then, with a commanding look, the deer was off, silver hoods spurning the forest floor, perfect antlers never entangling in the branches, white body graceful as the flight of a kingfisher. And with a blast on his hunting horn, Placidus and his faithful hunting steed and his trusted hunting dogs were in hot pursuit. 

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On and on went the wild deer chase through the forest. Placidus knew only that he must pursue that deer until the end, whether that end came in life or in death, in time or in eternity. But he could not catch up. His breath came in ragged gasps. His horse was near foundering. His dogs fell behind, unable to maintain the breakneck pace. 

And then, without warning, the ground rose steeply and before Placidus, a mighty rock face towered. Effortlessly, the white deer bounded up the mountain as though possessed of wings. But Placidus could not follow. He reigned in his horse and bowed his head. The great huntsman was beaten at his own game.

At the moment of Placidus’s deepest dark night of the soul, the miracle happened that would change his life forever. The deer stopped and turned to face him. The antlers atop the proud head formed into the shape of a Cross, with a crucified figure upon it, the strange symbol of the Christians which Placidus had often seen, wondered briefly about, and then as briefly dismissed from his thoughts. But there was no dismissing this powerful vision that had been sent to him.

There was only one thing to do and Placidus did it. He leaped from his horse and fell to his knees. And a voice cried out, echoing through the forest, “Placidus, why do you attempt to injure me? I am Jesus Christ, whom you have long served in ignorance. Do you believe in me?” Placidus answered the only way he knew how: “Lord, I believe.” 

The voice that responded was low and foreboding. “Many sorrows will you endure for my sake, many temptations will assail you, but be of good courage, I will always be with you.” Placidus knew in that moment that although his pursuit of the white deer had come to an end, so the vision of the cross was beckoning him on to a new pursuit, a fresh journey, one that would cost him not less than everything but for which he would gladly give all that he had. 

“Lord, I am content. Only give me patience to endure all things for thee.” St. Eustace did give all that he had for the vision of the crucified Christ. He lost his wealth and his position in the Roman Empire and was in the end burned at the stake by the order of Emperor Hadrian. 

And it was by giving all that he had, down to the last drop of his heart’s blood, that he answered the question that Jordan Peterson asks us lukewarm and complacent Christians today: “What do you mean when you say you believe?”

And perhaps, instead of going into the high fantods about Dr. Peterson’s alleged obfuscation, we might ask ourselves that question. Dark times are upon us and those times are going to get much darker before the day break, and the shadows flew away. And as the darkest hours come upon us, it is not going to be mere lip service to our creeds that will sustain us. Dr. Peterson knows this; and perhaps, instead of living up to our reputation for protesting as we good and faithful Protestants do, we might reconsider whether or not we have honestly earned the right of access to Jordan Peterson’s most private inner spiritual life, and instead, consider our own. 

Jordan Peterson’s path, as Placidus’s path, is narrow as the confines of his own body, lonely as his own pain, dark as his own ignorance, and his way is his own way and cannot be shared by another. And so it is for each of us. And perhaps the Christian faith would be better served if we each answered in our own souls: what do we mean by “believe?” 

Author’s Note: As I wrote this essay, I had open upon my lap an old copy of Elizabeth Goudge’s WWII novel The Pilgrim’s Inn, and it is from those yellowed pages that I paraphrased in my own words the story of St. Eustace. It’s a great book! Read it! 

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