Shia LaBeouf FIRES BACK at the Atheist Hollywood Elites Who Blacklisted Him—And How Faith Saved His Life

I never thought faith had anything to offer. Growing up in an anti-religious household, I was taught that belief in God was for the weak. My mother, a Mexican Catholic, hated the church, even though she still carried out some of the rituals—attending church on Christmas and Easter, but never truly believing in the institution. My stepdad, a Vietnam War vet, was just as adamant. “God doesn’t exist,” he’d say. “After what I saw in Vietnam, none of it’s real.” Religion, to me, was for the foolish, the people who couldn’t handle the cold, hard truth of the world.

I grew up with the message that if you believed in God, you were weak. If you believed in religion, you were ignorant, like the masses caught up in opium. So, from a young age, I rejected it entirely. I thought faith was for losers. But life has a funny way of humbling you.

Fast forward to my time at the Air Force Academy. Here I was, in my early twenties, thinking I had everything figured out. Then I met Meredith Jessup, my roommate, a man of deep faith. From Alabama, an African-American guy with a strong belief in Jesus Christ. At first, I treated him like dirt, calling him stupid, ignorant, mocking his belief system like I was some kind of intellectual. I mean, what did this guy know about the real world? He wasn’t even aware of how ridiculous his faith was.

But here’s the thing: for an entire year, he didn’t fight back. He didn’t crack. He didn’t argue. Instead, he responded with patience, love, and kindness, showing me a level of emotional stability I didn’t understand. How was he so calm when everything around us was chaotic? Why didn’t he get angry when I attacked him for his beliefs? I started to notice that there was something deeply different about this guy. Something that my sharp, cynical mind couldn’t explain. Could it be his faith? Could it be that this faith, that I had spent my life mocking, was the reason for his calmness?

Over time, that seed of curiosity grew. I started to observe people who were genuinely devout—Christians, Mormons, Catholics—and what I found was nothing short of striking. These people, despite all the trials of life, seemed grounded. They didn’t flinch in the face of adversity. They weren’t as volatile as the rest of us who had no faith. And it wasn’t just that they were emotionally stable. There was something about their belief system that gave them a quiet strength. A strength I hadn’t seen in myself, or anyone around me.

So, I graduated from the Academy, and the years went by, but the seed of faith still lingered. Then, one of my closest friends, Ian Slasnik, got married right out of the Academy. I thought he was crazy. Three months after graduation, locking yourself down to one woman after four years without female contact? But Ian, the man of unwavering faith, did just that. He was one of those stable, God-fearing men. And I respected him for it.

Wanting to do something special for his wedding, I decided to read the Bible, journal through it, and give him the journal as a wedding gift. Fourteen months later, after learning calligraphy to make the journal beautiful, I gave it to Ian. And something incredible happened as I read the Bible, especially in Psalms. It wasn’t just a book of ancient stories. It became personal. I realized that the things I had been mocking all my life—faith, religion, God—were not only real, but essential. I realized I believed in Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t a dramatic shift. It wasn’t a sudden epiphany. It was a journey, one that had been brewing for years. And when I gave Ian the journal, his tears were real. He handed it back to me with a message: “This is for you. You can’t give this to me.” And even now, I still have that journal.

But the real turning point in my life came when I hit rock bottom. The Hollywood fame I had once coveted turned out to be meaningless. My career was a joke, my life filled with endless parties, alcohol, drugs, and toxic relationships. I was lost in a spiral of self-destructive behavior. The emptiness inside me grew, and no matter how much I drank, smoked, or partied, it never went away. The fame, the wealth, the accolades—they all felt hollow. Nothing filled the void.

Then came the news. An article in The New York Times detailing the accusations against me. I had hurt people, abused women, and lived a depraved, disgusting life. My mother, devastated, cut ties with me. I didn’t want to be alive anymore. I was ready to check out. But then, something strange happened.

I was arrested in Georgia for a confrontation with a police officer during a film shoot. I was at my lowest point, and it was in this moment of despair that a producer, someone who was part of a spiritual program, suggested I attend a meeting for people recovering from alcohol addiction. I went, not because I had faith, but because I was desperate. And that was where I saw something I had never seen before—real joy. Men laughing, sharing, and supporting each other.

They weren’t just surviving—they were living with purpose. And it was then, for the first time in my life, I thought, “Could this be what I’ve been missing?” I started to realize that faith, something I had rejected all my life, wasn’t for the weak. It was for the strong. Faith was what held these men together, kept them sane, and gave them a sense of belonging.

One man, in particular, gave me the advice that changed everything. He told me, “If you have God in your life, you’re playing with loaded dice. God cheats in your favor.” I didn’t fully understand it at first, but it stuck with me.

And then, at a critical moment, I was asked to pray to the waves at the beach. It was symbolic—my friend asked me to try and stop the waves, knowing full well I couldn’t. But it was in this challenge that I finally understood something: I couldn’t control everything in life, but if I let go, if I surrendered, things might just work out.

And that’s when everything started to change. My pain, my shame, and my ego began to fade as I let go of the illusion that I could fix everything on my own. I started reading the Bible seriously for the first time, and I was struck by the profound message of redemption and purpose. My life had felt meaningless before, but now I understood that there was a greater plan. I wasn’t just an actor. I wasn’t just a celebrity. I was a human being with a purpose that went beyond the superficiality of Hollywood.

When I started to embrace my faith, it felt like my life had purpose again. I found stability in it. The emptiness that had once driven me to self-destructive behavior was now filled with something far deeper: hope.

My story isn’t one of immediate transformation. It’s a messy, painful journey, but it’s real. And I realized that faith, something I once saw as a weakness, was actually the thing that saved me. I know there are people in Hollywood, the so-called “elite,” who still see faith as a crutch or a weakness, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

Faith isn’t for the weak. It’s for the strong. It’s what gets you through the toughest times when nothing else works. It’s what gives you a sense of purpose, even when everything else around you feels empty. Faith gave me a reason to keep going when all I wanted to do was quit. And now, I stand by that faith, proudly, no matter who criticizes me. Because in the end, it wasn’t my career or my fame that mattered—it was finding something real to believe in.

So, to the Hollywood elites who blacklisted me for my beliefs: I’m still here. And I’m stronger than ever. Faith isn’t a weakness. It’s my strength.