Faith as Affirmation: Sorry, Author of Hebrews, I Don't Agree with You

Art by Samantha Muljat of Blood Bank Design

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1; NRSV) 

Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. (NLT) 

Faith is the assurance that what we hope for will come about and the certainty that what we cannot see exists. (ISV)

It is the contention of Enlightenment rationalists that faith is by nature blind. Faith claims something is true when it's not (or, at least, when we have no reason to say it is). Such thinkers would read Hebrews 11:1 to mean that faith fills the gap between what can be known and what can't be known. It is evidence of something that cannot be proved, certainty in the face of the unknown. If this is faith, I would agree that it is negative.

Progressive Christians would read the verse and emphasize the words "conviction," "confidence," and/or "assurance." Faith is a conviction that the object of our belief is true, and faith gives us confidence that it is true, assuring us that we do not believe in vain. This is weaker than certainty (and might actually claim less than the author of Hebrews meant to), but it still claims quite a bit. It still boldly fills the gap between the known and the unknown.

This still seems negative to me. It's not certainty, as it leaves room for self-awareness and is based on conviction and not proof, but I think it still claims too much. Fundamentalists view faith as proof that their beliefs are true; progressives view faith as a personal conviction that Christianity is true. There is an important difference, but I still think the latter is insufficient because it claims more than I think we can.

Is there a weaker form of faith? Is there a faith for heretical skeptics like me? Or should we just abandon faith altogether?

My suggestion is to view faith as affirmation, not as assurance or certainty. I believe, but I could be wrong. I believe, but I recognize that I cannot know. Faith is the affirmation of things hoped for, the supposition of things not seen. Of course, this is not what the verse says, but I think it is necessary to disagree with the author of Hebrews.

To affirm something is to say yes to it. Faith says yes to the object of belief, but leaves room for doubt. And a supposition is stronger than a suggestion. A supposition is not just a "maybe." It is a claim, even if a weak one. It is an affirmation of truth-value, but one that is not certain or confident.

So I think faith should be embraced as the affirmation of a supposition, not as the certainty or assurance that something is definitely true.

Despite uncertainty, a claim is made. That claim is one of faith. But it need not ignore the uncertainty, or ignore the possibility of being false. There is room for doubt, even if the doubt remains less compelling than the claim.

This leads me to what I think is another important facet of faith: being compelled. We make faith-claims not because we are certain that they are true, but because we are compelled to make them, either by our experience, or by the appealing nature of the belief, or something else. We see truth-value, and that compels us to believe.

Truth-value. That is what faith affirms. It does not boldly claim, "This is true." It, inspired by the object of belief, claims, "This has truth-value." Truth-value means we have reason to be sure that there's something true about it, but how true it is is not clear.

This, I think, is noble faith, faith worth having. It is virtuous faith, desirable faith, and I even think it makes faith ideal, preferable to its alternative.

It leaves room not only for doubt, but for pluralism, for a universal respect for all faith-claims, and for recognizing truth value in all systems of belief. We can all have a pleasant conversation if we are all epistemologically humble.

We are finite. We are limited. We are small. We claim too much if we claim certainty. Certainty in the face of the unknown is arrogance and ignorance; it isn't faith. Faith is a risk. Faith believes. In believing, we recognize that there is a gap between what is known and unknown, because that gap occasions the belief.

If you KNOW that Christianity is true, you don't have faith; you have fabricated certainty.

Heschel says, "God was concealed even when He revealed."* Revelation does not provide us with unmediated, certain knowledge of what is beyond us. Revelation only gives us an object of belief, something that requires faith. It does not give us something of which we can be certain.

The book of Job provides a perfect illustration of this. God reveals himself to Job. He speaks directly to him, addresses him, and comes before him. What is Job's response? Instead of having an Aha! moment, he bows before the abyss and humbly claims "I know nothing."

Truth is concealed even when it is revealed. Faith affirms the revelation, while respecting the hiddenness that accompanies it. All our faith-claims should be tempered by a respect for mystery and the unknown.

Sure, it's not a strong faith. It's not a conviction, or a confident or sure faith. But I think it's the best faith we can reasonably embrace. In all our believing, we must leave room for doubt.

*Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1955), 193.

Scary Truth: The Important Difference Between Despair & Disorientation

From the film The Abyss (1989)

I'm a skeptic. For me, it's hard not to deconstruct, doubt, and criticize. So when it comes to my spiritual life, I have a pretty hard time with what Lesslie Newbigin calls "proper confidence."

I just wrote in a poem/song, "Everybody thinks their god is really cool / He kinda looks like them and tells'em what's true / So if someone asks if I'm confident in what I've got / Lean your face against your hand and tell'em I'm not." That's my way of saying we can never be certain of our construal of reality, and our individual versions of the truth tend to resemble our selves. Because of this, it seems imprudent to me be certain of what we believe is true.

Our finitude always limits what we can say with sure knowledge, and so I think it's important to be self-aware and self-critical, calling into question our presuppositions and assumptions.

However, when this attitude crosses over into the spiritual realm, I personally am left with an agnostic "faith." There is a constant warring within myself between belief and unbelief. To a certain extent, that's fine with me, but at times this battle makes genuinely calling myself a Christian problematic, as I don't always feel like one, nor do I always want to be one.

Seeking to be self-critical, I acknowledge how convenient Christianity is for me. I grew up with it. I've been passionate about it my whole life. Plus, I have a terrible fear of death that is alleviated by belief in an afterlife, particularly one in which everything wrong with the world is made right and we all live in a peaceful, love-centered community. Indeed, Christianity often seems too good to be true. But recently I've been learning the difference between despair and disorientation.

Let me explain what I mean.

As someone who is eager to progress toward the truth, I often find myself disoriented. If you're open-minded and you seek to learn a lot, from time to time you have your whole world shaken by something you read or think. This experience is daunting and, at first, maybe a little terrifying.

I call it 'disorientation'. You were settled on a particular idea (orientation) and that idea was compromised or even shattered (disorientation). I have come to love this experience, as it has always proved to be liberating and has always led me one step closer to the truth.

But there's also despair. Despair does not lead one closer to the truth. Despair halts progress. It is debilitating and life-sucking. Despair in truth-seeking happens when one cannot see any way but hopelessness and nihilism.

I know despair as well as I know disorientation. I experience it if I think about death and the possibility of nonexistence long enough--and that's why I'm beginning to think my convenient belief in Christianity is not really so bad.

Uncertainty, though unavoidable, often brings me before nihilism, as the inability to be assured of whatever version of the truth I happen to espouse makes me wonder if I can justifiably believe anything at all. It is a real struggle, but I'm beginning to see the weakness of sustaining the on-the-fence life I've been living.

I know I'm too afraid to let go of Christianity. I know at the end of the day that letting go of my faith altogether would cost too much for me. If I were to stop being a Christian--and I've tried several times--I would drift into despair, and my fear of death would take its tole on my mind.

Once, I was watching a movie and started to imagine myself on my death bed, about to say goodbye to the life I've always known. I had to stop the movie because I couldn't keep myself from crying.

Death anxiety is legitimately unhealthy. The stress it causes does damage to the brain and raises one's risk of cardiovascular disease. If Christianity isn't true and believing it is ends up meaning I lived in an ignorant bliss, so be it. I would rather die believing a lie than live in anxiety.

Learn the difference between despair and disorientation. The latter is often vital for one's truth walk; it enhances life. The former is debilitating and life-sucking.

Whatever conclusions you come to, choose life.

3 Characteristics of Truth-Seeking

The title of this blog might make me sound presumptuous or big-headed. "Oh, so you understand truth and you're going to explain it to me?" The irony is that I believe very much the opposite. I agree with Cornel West that we can never know Truth, but can only focus on the way to it.(1) It is in that vein that I offer the following remarks about truth-seeking.

I share this because I am passionate about truth-seeking and because I wish more people would think about these things. My comments come from a lot of reading and thinking and exposure to philosophers and theologians who have wrestled with life's biggest questions. I don't assume any superior knowledge or intellectual high ground. I could be misguided. If you think I am, please share your thoughts with me. I want to be a humble truth-seeker, and if anything I say comes off as arrogant, please let me know so I can grow in wisdom and understanding.

With that, here are 3 things I've learned about truth-seeking.

1. Truth is Subversive

I keep learning again and again that truth does not care about what I want. It doesn't care what makes me comfortable, or what I've always believed, or what I like. Truth is subversive.

The way to truth will never look like a continual affirmation of what we believe. It must be regularly challenging, scrutinizing to many of our beliefs and presuppositions. Truth-seeking is arduous, convicting, unsettling, and even distressing at times.

Why? Because of our finitude. People don't realize how arrogant they are when they claim certainty. How can you be certain when you're so finite?

So when we're assessing something's truth-value, we need to make a distinction between what is traditional, likeable, comfortable, and what is true. Oftentimes, I will find myself resisting a certain conclusion, not because I think it's false, but because I don't like it.

The answer to "Is this true?" will often not coincide with the answer to "Do I like this?" or "Is this coherent with what I believe?"--but it is a much more important question.

"To live outside the law, you must be honest" - Bob Dylan

2. Truth-Seeking Will Cost You

I'm realizing more and more that for a lot of people, altering a belief in something is not about whether or not the evidence points them in an alternate direction, but it's rather about how much the change costs.

If someone believes A and is presented with evidence for B, what is often more important is how much it costs to adopt B in place of A, so that if the cost is too high, B will be rejected even if the evidence points to it.

What is comfortable is often made more important than what is true. But what is true is often uncomfortable, and if we are honest, we will let truth-seeking change us. It might mean letting go of beliefs, traditions, and assumptions that we grew up with, or that we're passionate about, or that we just really like--but what ultimately matters is not what's comfortable and likable, but what's true.

However, it should be said that cynicism is not equivalent to truth. Just because you make the negative conclusion that makes certain people uncomfortable, doesn't mean you're right. For example, oftentimes in biblical scholarship there's a negative conclusion to make (like, "this event did not actually happen") and a positive conclusion to make ("this event did happen"). It is flawed to assume the positive conclusion because it's more comfortable, but it is equally flawed to assume the negative conclusion because it's challenging to believers.

"There is nothing so stable as change" - Bob Dylan

3. Questions Will Lead the Way

Jesus--maybe the most subversive person to ever live--said, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven" (Matt 18:3). Children are led by questions. They're always asking them. They are bewildered by the world, and they want to understand it, so they ask questions.

We lose our child-likeness when we think we have life figured out. It's the arrogance of adulthood to suppose that because we have come as far as we have, we have arrived at truth. Child-like truth-seekers will never stop asking questions, and so will never stop growing in truth.

Questions are so beautiful. They guide us to uncharted territory. They teach us not just about reality, but about how to think. Asking questions is to truth-seeking what lifting weights is to strength-building. The more you do it, the more you understand, and the more equipped you are to understand even more.

If something is true, asking questions will lead you to it. This is why I suspect that those who condemn asking questions are secretly aware that what they believe does not have truth-value. If it had truth-value, the question-asking and the evidence would suggest it.

I wish more people would teach kids to keep asking questions, instead of trying to spoon feed them propaganda and control the boundaries of their minds.

"I was born knowing the truth. Everybody is. Trouble is, they get it knocked out of them before they can walk." - Bob Dylan

What have you learned about truth-seeking? What should be added to this list?

Notes:
(1) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfD3X3f5C_w

"He used to be such a fine young Christian": Reflections on Finishing Undergrad

Photo cred: Katie Yaklin

One of my favorite quotes from all of the reading I've done these past few years comes from one of Peter Enns' professors: "For Jews, the Bible is a problem to be solved. For Christians, it is a message to be proclaimed."(1) The fact that I didn't understand this statement the first time I read it is a testament to the evolution of my thinking.

Christians like to package the Bible into creeds, or messages for evangelism, or systematic theologies. I was like this for a long time. I wanted to come to confident conclusions on everything so that I knew what I believed and could share it with others.

In mainstream evangelical American Christianity (I'll say MEAC for short), a lot of emphasis is put on 'knowing what you believe'. You need to know what you believe so you can stand firm in those beliefs when faced with opposing beliefs, in order to avoid losing your faith. I sympathize with this to an extent. The ancient Israelites often forgot their Heilsgeschichte (salvation history) with Yahweh, and started denying it to collude with the religions and cultures of other nations. They needed to know what they believed about Yahweh so that they could faithfully stand firm in their calling and in the relationship with him.

But there is a difference between standing firm in the knowledge of one's history and relationship with God, and standing firm in one's intellectual conclusions so that no re-assessment ever occurs. The latter is intellectually dishonest as it refuses to engage in a genuine search for truth. Something I have learned over and over again the past few years is the need to be humble in making conclusions, because they are always, and always should be, subject to change upon further analysis.

A huge problem I have with MEAC is its suppression of questions and doubt. To the Jews, faith wrestles. Jacob received the name Israel because he wrestled with God! To Christians, questions and doubt are threats; they threaten the established order of Christianity. The faith of MEAC is defined by blind acceptance of unquestionable beliefs, which is not a healthy faith, as humans were not created to be mere yes-men. What such Christians fail to understand is that questions and doubt are keys to becoming more acquainted with God.

One of the biggest lessons I have learned in college is not to be so confident in my conclusions that I never subject them to doubt. Have you ever questioned your view of Scripture? Your stance on homosexuality? Your stance on salvation? Your stance on evolution? The Bible tells us to "test everything; hold fast to what is good, and reject every kind of evil" (1 Thess. 5:21-22); don't condemn people like me for doing this intellectually. Instead, subject everything to critical analysis as well. If you aren't willing to do so, then you might not actually be interested in truth.

"The canonical literature does not offer a settled, coherent account of reality; rather, it provides the materials for ongoing disputatious interpretation." - Walter Brueggemann

(1) See Peter Enns, Inspiration and Incarnation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), 71.

Truth Amid 7 Billion Protagonists: The Reality of Pluralism and the Impossibility of Certainty

I don't remember how old I was, but I know I was really young when I had the realization that I am not the only protagonist in this world. It was mind-boggling for me to realize that people experience life in the same subjective way that I do, except with different thoughts and feelings. I am the protagonist of my story, and other people are supporting characters and extras in that story. Likewise, you, reader, are the protagonist of your story, and I am a character in that story. It's like in 30 Rock when Tracy Jordan says, "When I go to sleep, nothing happens in the world." I realized the utter falsity of this statement. This realization was quite daunting for me. I found out, quite literally, that the world does not revolve around me (the picture to the left captures my reaction to this realization)

This would, much later, lead me to discovering the realty of pluralism. At a young age, perhaps younger than I was when I realized I am not the only protagonist in the world, I had a thought that made me feel quite cool: "I am smarter than Albert Einstein, because I know that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior." It was a hard day for my faith when I realized that this isn't true either. Mormons think they have the universal truth, and that I need to be converted to their way of thinking. Atheists think they know the truth, and I need to come to their conclusions. There are 7 billion protagonists in this world, and they all, in one way or another, have a claim to truth, and all our claims differ in a multitude of ways. I could be wrong, and someone else could be right.

I'm not smarter than Einstein simply because I believe Jesus is my savior. Einstein was a pretty smart dude. Richard Dawkins is a smart guy. He's not dumb. He believes he's right, and I believe I'm right; and, as is said in Fiddler on the Roof, "He's right, and he's right? They can't both be right."

I don't know how many people have had both of these realizations. I have just assumed that everyone has, but I have found that to be mistaken. One guy I know didn't have the first realization until he was in college! For me, it was a part of growing up; I just woke up to it one day. I don't know if it's the same way with everyone, but I'm beginning to think it just isn't.

My point in saying all this is to introduce a discussion on faith and certainty. Sometimes, a conversation arises in which I share with people the fact that I fear death. Most of the Christians I say this to get confused: "But you're going to Heaven. Why are you afraid to die?" To which I say, "Well, yah, I believe I am going to Heaven. But I don't know 100% that I am going to Heaven. We Christians could be wrong." This almost always confuses them even more. They often take it as a weakness in my faith, because faith is so often held as synonymous with certainty. The International Standard Version of the Bible translates Hebrews 11:1 as saying, "faith is the assurance that what we hope for will come about and the certainty that what we cannot see exists." This is a poor translation, and most translations rightfully do not translate elenchos as 'certainty'.

Certainty is a feeling and cannot actually exist. When it comes to what is objectively true, we can't be 100% certain, which is why faith is necessary. This is very postmodern of me, but it's true. I believe Christianity is true, but I could be wrong. Atheists could be right. Because there are those possibilities, neither of us can claim to be certain about what the truth is. We can feel certain, and often do, but that doesn't make what we believe objectively true.

In science, theories, laws, and facts are all considered subject to the possibility of falsification. We simply cannot be certain of even the most basic facts. We can't even prove that reality exists beyond our minds. The simple fact that there are other creatures that see more colors than we do should tell us that we can't be 100% certain about what we perceive to be true. Thus, faith is absolutely essential, it is the starting point of every ideology. To quote Einstein (who was much smarter than I), "There is no logical path leading to [universal] laws [from which a picture of the world can be obtained]. They are only to be reached by intuition, based upon something like an intellectual love."(1) Lesslie Newbigin equates this 'intellectual love' with faith.(2)

I should clarify that I am not advocating strict pluralism or relativism, which maintains that truth is completely relative and whatever we believe is true determines what actually is true ("He's right and he's right? They can't both be right"). There is no true-for-you vs. true-for-me; objective truth exists, but, as 1 Cor. 13:12 says, we see things as in a mirror dimly, only knowing in part, but some day we shall know fully, seeing face to face. This verse should cause us to abandon all claims to certainty, but rather, humbly claim the truth of Christianity through faith.

I think it is about time the church recognizes the reality of pluralism, and instead of demanding that Christians adhere to certainty, and frowning upon all forms of doubt, we should humbly acknowledge our inability to know anything, and instead display with reason that the Gospel is preferable within the limited framework that we have for understanding our world.(3) All good thinkers will acknowledge that we can’t be certain of anything but simply have to do the best with what we have; Christians should do the same. As Paul Tillich said, we should "act as if it [is] possibly the case that [our] beliefs [are] false."(4)

The Christian approach to the pluralistic world before us should acknowledge the subjective nature of truth claims; not just the claims of our own, but also those of others. So if we say subjective truth claim vs. subjective truth claim, that ought to put us and the rest of the world on a level playing field. We can then ask, "Which narrative is more worthy of your faith?" and can make a case for embracing the Christian narrative.

Notes:
(1) Albert Einstein, quoted in Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1989), 31.
(2) Ibid.
(3) On the subject of faith vs. certainty and doubt as a tool for Christian thinking, see Gregory A. Boyd, The Benefit of the Doubt: Breaking the Idol of Certainty (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2013).
(4) Paul Tillich, quoted in Newbigin, 42.