As I
explained to a commenter in the Mark Driscoll thread, I’ve rarely been without doubt in my experience of Christianity. I had, oh, about 18 months of doubt-free Christian living right after my conversion, but the questions came hard and fast after that. I was basically a faith-less Christian for a while, if not quite an apostate. My faith is stronger now, and less shakeable, because I’ve learned to live with, and draw strength from, my questions while living and worshipping within the Christian tradition.
So I’m always fascinated by intellectual Christians who don’t seem to struggle with doubt. I suppose all Christians doubt in some way or another (even if only “How do I know God really loves me?”), but I’m speaking of Christians who are, for instance, philosophers or scientists or artists or professional intellectuals of some kind of another, who are exposed to a wide range of ideas, many of which would challenge their faith directly…and yet, they aren’t really bothered by all that. It’s not that they don’t face the hard questions–it’s that they do, and they do it without fear. They consider perspectives that challenge their own, they even find those perspectives reasonable and respect those who hold them…but somehow, the process of studying this stuff never shakes them to the core. It doesn’t keep them up at night, or make them less likely to take communion the next Sunday at church, as it has with me. It may make it hard impossible for them to find a church that respects or represents all their views, but it doesn’t make them see the Church as bunk all through.
When I was at the nadir of my doubt, I once went to dinner with a friend in New York City who was a teaching fellow in philosophy. He was talking about the range of questions his students had about God, about their staunch skepticism, and how he enjoyed discussing these subjects with them and surprising them with his faith in (to put it broadly) metaphysics. At one point, I asked him how he had dealt with the pain of struggling toward faith.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, how did you get through the bleak times, when you were first confronted with all these ideas that conflicted with Christianity?” I spent a few moments summarizing my own struggle to believe.
“I never went through anything like that,” he responded. He told me about how he had grown up in a church with a pastor who loved the world of ideas, and encouraged hard questions from his parishioners. Then, in college, he was part of a group that met with a couple of the school’s Catholic professors in a bar each week and explored the paradoxes and complexities of Christian belief.
Somehow, these contexts had helped this guy see questions not as threatening, but as, well, fun. Questions were tough challenges, to be sure, but he had an undergirding strength that fixed his way of seeing the world. But it didn’t make him dogmatic, or any less intellectually flexible. He was as curious and open-minded as one could be, and was fair-minded toward others and other belief systems. But he had a quiet peace about the story of Christianity, and he believed in it.
N.D. Wilson’s story, linked above, gives this same impression. Another new friend of mine who has a background in English literary theory is the same way.
Why is this? Why are some people troubled and sometimes destroyed by intellectual questions about faith, while others handle skeptical claims with a joyful interest?
posted January 13, 2009 at 5:43 pm
Patton, I’ve enjoyed quietly reading your blog and have thought of posting a few times, but silence is so much nicer. As to this post, well, friends and I were talking about this topic the other night. All of us agreed that is was experience that made the difference for each of us. Meeting God in some undeniable way along the way that holds us steady through the worst kinds of trials and challenges to faith. My husband has never doubted God. I on the other hand have prayed plenty of “I believe; help my unbelief prayers” along the way. Just last night in fact. Blessings to you, and best wishes on your education journey.
posted January 13, 2009 at 6:46 pm
Is it about perfectionism? Is it perhaps because one tries so hard, and so futilely, to reconcile the varying ideas one encounters into a cohesive belief system of one’s own? Is it because one’s mom practically shrieked at one when one, as a teenager, confessed an inkling of doubt , or because one’s pastor frequently pronounced the possibility of one dying the moment one walked out the door to then face the harrowing consequences of failing to believe and act now? Heck if I know, but I know this doubt, and I sometimes . . . almost . . . stop caring it’s there. I do know people who really think and don’t doubt, and that is rare and beautiful indeed.
posted January 13, 2009 at 8:01 pm
I wanted to add that I think there is a difference between doubt and skepticism. The difference is in tone. I was reading an interview with Phyllis Tickle in which she talks about the death of her infant son many years ago. She said something about being able to look up, even if one is raging. That resonates with me.
posted January 14, 2009 at 12:30 am
Thanks for the PT quote, cas. I do think Phyllis is one of these people. Her recent book THE WORDS OF JESUS on how she sees the gospels differently now sort of captures one expression of what I’m describing here.
tightrope walker–”stop caring it’s there.” Yep, been there. Sometimes it’s sort of necessary to put doubt in its place, knock it down to size.
posted January 14, 2009 at 12:52 am
People who grew up being discouraged from asking questions learned that uncertainty is something you can get in trouble for talking about. It is an unmentionable, taboo thing, something to feel bad for even thinking about, much less giving voice to. And so Uncertainty becomes the monster Doubt.
People who grew up being encouraged to ask questions, learn that uncertainty is an opportunity to learn or, if the answer is unavailable, to speculate. It is nothing to fear or be ashamed of. And, because not-knowing is not a problem, it doesn’t provoke the same urgent, anxious need to have answers.
posted January 14, 2009 at 10:41 am
Thanks, Patton.
No time to develop, but it might have something to do with appropriate humility toward the cosmos. If you’re not expecting scientific certainty from your belief, and/or if you recognize that your ability to reason and to perceive reality is finite (NOT unreliable, just limited), perhaps it is easier to trust in those areas that are uncertain.
There is also the question of trusting the experience of other believers over time, most of whom are smarter than me.
And the issue of developing a deeper spiritual life through obedience and discipline(s). When the will is engaged, I find that doubts are less pressing.
Jennifer at Conversion Diaries has a recent excellent series of posts on the “Dark night” that is directly related, I think.
Cheers!
posted January 14, 2009 at 10:22 pm
“When the will is engaged, I find that doubts are less pressing.” Me, too, Peter. Grace for those times when I’m able to keep my will engaged.
posted January 15, 2009 at 9:44 pm
http://osservivedono.blogspot.com/
There’s certainly a difference in being a truth seeker and being a blind traditionalist. By this I mean, blind traditionalists view questions to their tradition as potential threats that could tear down everything they’ve worked to build. They do not want change because it requires a re-evaluation of the world for them. It’s not that they’re lazy; it’s that they might be wrong and they’re frightened. That’s understandable.
Truth seekers, however, view questions as puzzles on the path to deepening their own faith — they don’t fear change because they understand (even if its subconsciously) that change will be required as you get closer to truth. The ultimate change, of course, is death.
I don’t see how anyone can approach challenging questions and, perhaps in a period of transition while one struggles with the possibilities, not doubt one’s own answers.