"I am not ashamed of my actions."

My title is spoken by Jeremiah Smith, a name of such import. Jeremiah was, of course, one of the Old Testament prophets, who lived to witness the fall of Jerusalem, despite his call to return to the God who would save. Wherein lies our quandary. We resist God because He imposes strictures upon our behaviour and way of life. Our mad dash for freedom prohibits our subservience to a power that might tell us we are wrong.
The surname, Smith, shows him to be but an ordinary man, but one skilled in the use of his hands - what is a smith but one who works with his hands, shaping utility into the shapeless?
Jeremiah Smith demonstrates both these aspects of his name. He heals in the manner of Jesus, by laying on his hands, (cf. 'Talitha Cumi) which shapes the shooter into a new person, one who now believes when, before, he was without hope.
Unfortunately, Jeremiah Smith proves himself a damp squib. How many times does he tell Mulder that he can explain everything - which he obviously can - but never does? In this he proves his humanity - though he be alien - for the greatest among us never really provide the explanation that saves. It may well be that his not explaining is a metaphor for our not listening even if he did.
Jeremiah and the Cigarette Smoking Man have an interesting conversation after his capture. And don't you just love the irony of the man who saves trussed up in the same way as Hannibal Lector? Must be a Catholic joke - the cannibalism of the Eucharist.
It is a conversation straight out of Erich Fromm's 'Escape from Freedom', the contradictory desires for freedom and authority.
Born to Orthodox Jews, Fromm left Germany because of Hitler's rise to power, eventually settling in the United States. His question was simply why, why would human beings, who had apparently struggled so long for freedom, be willing to simply had it back to the first Fascist who came along? Listen, oh America!
The answer is that freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's hard work. It's lonely. It's unproductive.
And, ultimately, as the postmodernists showed so well, it is meaningless.
Freedom cannot be coped with because we don't fully understand it. We have, as Kierkegaard tried to tell us, an Either/Or view of freedom. We are either free and so are not beholden to authority, or we are lacking freedom and so must abide by the rules imposed. This is why modern human beings refute God and give themselves to Fascists and Donald Trump.
The truth of freedom lies between the lines. As I've said before, we are products of the author who brought us into existence and always retain a degree of their meaning. It isn't who we are in total, but it is always a part of who we are. As texts, we are thrust into a world that will impose meaning upon us. Again, it isn't who we are but nothing is gained by denying the impression made upon us. We can hope to influence how we will be read by others, we can never dictate how we will be read.
Yet we have the right to read our own stories, to give meaning to the story we tell. If we are true to ourselves, our meaning will contradict and conflict the stories others seek to impose while incorporating those meanings into the person we seek to be. Freedom is born out of conflict, lives amid conflict, thrives on conflict. Only if one is willing to accept the conflict will one truly be free.