A
PLAIN GUIDE TO ...
Faith
The Church is in grave error - and has been for many
centuries. The error derives from a false understanding of faith. From
this misconception come a host of bad practices which bedevil the life of
Christians worldwide. This is not to say that expert theologians are at
fault. They generally are not. But it is to say that ordinary Christians
have been irresponsibly misled.
The religions of the world have
come under unprecedented pressure in the last few centuries. Some two or
three hundred years into the scientific age, many religious people still look
back for guidance to a time when religious worldviews defined reality.
In doing so they are confronted by huge and apparently irreconcilable
tensions between old and new paradigms. Or, to
put the matter differently, a large majority of those who call themselves
religious can't easily credit how much our perceptions have changed about "the way
things are". They don't seem to realise that a great
divide has
opened up between us and our ancestors. As a result, it seems to me,
they have gradually been forced to define faith in a way which divorces it
from reason. This essay will attempt to explain why I think it
necessary to speak in such strong terms. Let me
illustrate the nature of the great divide as best I can. When I look back on my adolescence I am aware of the degree to which I was
then confusedly searching for, amongst other things, a self-identity. That
awareness has become sharper and clearer as I progress towards old
age. Over the decades I have gradually changed into the person I now am. I
know more clearly than before my place in society. I now know some of my strengths and
weaknesses. I know a little about how others perceive me. There is
nevertheless a deep continuity
between me as I am now and me as I was at 16 years old. An onlooker seeing
boy and man side-by-side would undoubtedly recognise them as the same
person. Two others as far apart in time as Thomas
Aquinas and Abraham exhibit a similar continuity. Relatively minor
differences of language and culture aside, they share fundamental ways of
understanding reality. Both, for example, would think of the universe as a
continuous spectrum from the physical to the spiritual. The physical world
would pass imperceptibly from the earthly
to the heavenly. Rational beings would rank hierarchically from mankind, to the angels, and
thence to God. The
list of similarities could be extended. Abraham and Aquinas dressed differently,
did different things each day. One was pre-Christian the other
post-Hebraic. But each had a very similar backdrop of unquestioned
realities, of things taken for granted. Both would have agreed, despite
differing terminologies, about the basic fabric of "the way things
are." Just as the 16-year-old me and the me
in the year 2002 dress very differently and do very different things, so with Aquinas and Abraham. And just as the teenage me and the elderly
me share essentially the same worldview - the later me leavened only by greater experience -
so the two greats of religion share similar constructs of how the universe
functions. But both Abraham and Aquinas would find
it almost impossible to talk to a modern scientist. Any dialogue they
would attempt with an
economist, a psychologist or a a statistician would founder from the
start. It would founder because the way the two groups perceive reality is fundamentally
different. They are incompatible at many points. There would be no meeting
of minds. The old mental clothes would not fit the new minds and vice-versa. It's my contention that
the great divide also affects how I understand faith today. If I attempt to
force my perceptions into ancient perceptual garments, something's got to
give. Either my limbs will be encumbered by strange shapes, or the
cloth will stretch and split. I'll end up either unable to move effectively, or
arrested for indecent exposure. The new wine will split the old wineskin. The great divide
has been effectively dealt with in terms of Medieval literature and the
Bible [1].
Faith in Christian tradition is likewise a common theme in
contemporary writing. The reader will be rewarded by looking into
historical summaries and expositions of biblical meaning [2].
John Robinson [3] and
John Spong [4] are
among those who attempt to work out the implications for traditional theology of the great
divide between two perceptual epochs. Here
I want to briefly examine faith, not as it has been, but as it generally is
today.
It will be obvious that I make a number of assumptions. But I hope
nevertheless to have grasped reasonably well
how some who call themselves Christian think of
faith. I suspect my analysis may apply to other religious people as well. In other words, I don't intend to deal
here with the fine verbal distinctions and elaborate formulations of
theologians. The equally profound but simpler understanding of ordinary
people are more my concern here. My contention is that an implicit, and
often explicit, identification of faith with belief lies at the root of
many difficulties in the Christian religion [5]. It seems that this identification is almost universal in common usage. A
person "of great faith" is almost always thought of as someone who
"believes" certain propositions more unwaveringly than most. Faith lies in willingness and ability to believe.
That is, the strength of faith
correlates with the firmness with which beliefs are held. Where does this error originate?
[1] The
first source may appear mundane. We should remember that one of the sea-changes
of modern times is an ability to read the Bible translated from Greek into
one's own language. The advantages of this are many. But there is one
important difficulty - the loss of some of the original meaning through
the inevitable changes which come about during translation.
The common-Greek word pisteuo has almost always been translated into English by "believe". But
the Greek doesn't mean "believe" in the sense of assenting to a
proposition or agreeing with a truth. The Hebrew word
to which the Greek usually refers back means "to make firm or
strong." The sense in which the Greek is used relates to a firm
confidence or reliance as distinct from mere credence or "belief that".
So to "believe" someone or something is actually to
"believe in" the person or thing [6].
One version (King James Bible) occasionally uses the more accurate English word
"assurance" to translate the Greek. It seems to me that a
better English equivalent of the Greek is "trust."
Matthew 21.32 (to take one sample of the New Testament more or less at random)
is translated in the Good News Bible and others using
"believe" for the Greek pisteuo:
For John the Baptist came to you showing you the right
path to take, and you would not believe him; but the tax
collectors and the prostitutes believed him. Even when you saw
this, you did not later change your minds and believe him.
But it would be fairer to the original if it read:
For John the Baptist came to you showing you the right
path to take, and you would not trust him; but the tax collectors
and the prostitutes trusted him. Even when you saw this, you did
not later change your minds and trust him.
You might think that the substitution of
"trust" for "believe" is no
great improvement. But I propose that such a reaction might arise because the word
"trust" is itself often devalued and emptied of full meaning in
current usage. For example, if my wife
says, "I trust my hairdresser to give me the right cut," I'd
better comment favourably when she returns from her hairdo. But if she
says, "I trust the doctor to see me through the baby's birth," I
know that she has a depth of confidence radically unlike that in her
hairdresser. Trust is essential to our lives. The
micro-world of business, in which I have spent many years, could not
operate without it. The world of politics would be much more stable with
it. So, for example, many think that legal contracts and treaties help improve the level of trust.
As any experienced businessman or politician will tell you, they do
nothing of the sort - they
merely clarify detail so that potential misunderstandings are reduced or
even eliminated. This leaves mutual trust which, as much as
"love", makes the world go round. Briefly,
behaviour which can be trusted has four behavioural components
[7]:
Openness I can trust you if I know that you will share with me
any information which impacts my well-being. Trust between us will
grow if you are open with me, and I with you. Congruence If you are straight with me about both good and bad
news, so that I know exactly where I stand, I will be more likely to trust what you say
and do. Acceptance If I know that you accept me as I am, that you won't
penalise me because I'm not who you want me to be, I'm more likely to trust you. - Reliability I will trust you more if I know from experience that
you will do everything in your power to carry out your commitments to
me.
Of course, the four elements of trust are more complex in practice
than the above very brief summary allows. But I ask only that you consider the above four building blocks of faith in
relation to how you perceive God as creator of the universe, and Jesus as
the pioneer of the Christian way of life. Putting this another way, does it matter
one iota what you believe if you trust neither God nor Jesus?
Understood in this way, faith is transformed into a
powerful construct. It is more than just an idea, however. In
practice, faith becomes a set of behaviours critical to a Christian way of
life.
As pertinent, however, is the potential transformation of
faith from wishy-washy "belief" to a
dynamic trust in God as the creator and mover of all life. It shifts me from mere doctrinal
assent to putting my money where my mouth is.
[2] Current use of
"belief" as a synonym for "faith" often appears to
connect with the phrase "The Faith." Christians are supposed to
commit themselves mentally and emotionally to the teachings and
institutional life of "the faith" as preserved and developed by
the Church.
Such is the condition of Christianity, however, that "The
Faith" isn't one thing, but many. Many try to tell us otherwise.
But even the most casual examination of the Church's many parties and
schools will reveal startling variety, colour and vibrant life.
"The Faith" as a set of absolute truths held by all doesn't
exist. I can discern four main types of underlying difference:
To the Roman Catholic party "The Faith" is
put forward as ecclesiastical tradition at one with right scriptural interpretation
of the Church. To the Protestant
party "The Faith" as right belief is based on the Bible, as variously interpreted by
Protestants. -
The Orthodox party preserves "The Faith" in its
creeds, liturgies and teaching.
-
Around these main players scrambles a
host of lesser parties, all with this or that variation on the main themes,
their own interpretations of "The Faith.".
I am not dealing here with the objection raised by some - that there
is a gap between the ideals of faith and the practice or behaviours of
those who adhere to "The Faith". That seems to me to be the
same gaps which usually exist for all of us between what we say and what
we do.
The Christian parties, despite their differences, seem to me to have one aspect in
common. Each urges its followers to assent to the propositions of the faith-tradition
which it preserves and preaches.
The point I want to
emphasise is that each tradition stresses "The Faith" as a set
of teachings or propositions.
Almost always, potential converts are presented with a series of absolute
truths backed up not as much by reasoned argument as by claims to having
received truth direct from God.
Roman Catholics say that their faith propositions must
be true because they have both the Bible as God's revelation, and an
unbroken chain of authority and witness stretching back to St
Peter. Protestants claim their faith propositions are true
because they are derived from a virtually infallible written record of
God's dealings with, and revelations to, humankind - that is, the Bible. The Orthodox Church claims that its teachings are true because
they are scriptural and authorised by the Councils of the Church.
The authority of all is, I think, ultimately based upon the
claim that truth lies primarily in what has gone before rather than on
reasoned conclusions on the basis of how the world is perceived.
It is held, in effect, that "The Faith" is clearer and more certain at its
origins than in the present. If you want to know
about the essence of "The Faith", they would say, go back in
time to the authorities of the past. Latter-day faith can be believed
inasmuch as those authorities to whom it is
entrusted accurately reflect
and interpret teachings as they were originally intended.
This is the only explanation I can come up with to
explain why affirmation of the Church's creeds, for example, are regarded by most
churches as essential to right Christian living.
But explore the convoluted arguments by which credal authority is justified. Note
dispassionately the contortions of phrase and word by which theologians
and bishops attempt to capture the nature of God.
And then ask yourself, "Even if I can give some
sort of mental assent to these subtle verbal statements, do I trust
them to in any way bring me closer to God? Are their pronouncements reliable? Do they
express straight-forward truths about life as I know it? Do I recognise in them
open communication which hides nothing and reveals what I need to
know? Do they convey
acceptance of me as I am, with all my limitations?"
If your answer to these questions is "Yes"
then read no further. But if you feel even a twinge of uncertainty, if your
reason balks at the creeds, then try asking what you can trust
about "the faith". I personally find myself opposed to tradition as a set
of constructs to which I must conform to be accepted as God's beloved (to
use a metaphor from romance).
But what I can place my trust in is the commitment of
those who have gone before. They and their lives are a
"tradition" I can trust. They, like me, have many shortcomings.
Augustine of Hippo was, for example, what we today would call highly
neurotic about sex. His God-talk (theology) is profoundly contaminated and distorted by this
deep-seated outlook on sexuality.
Having said that, I can trust Augustine and countless
others inasmuch they have been
pioneers before me. They have lived out as best they could the life
and teaching of Jesus. They are worthy of my respect even though I
recognise that I don't think about reality as they did.
Perhaps an analogy will help clarify. Just as pioneers went before me in my native land, so
have others gone before me in the Christian pilgrimage. My ancestors in
South Africa, starting some 300 years ago, left me with the legacy of Apartheid.
But I don't devalue them because their way of life eventually issued in
legalised racism. On the contrary, I value them because - with all
their faults - I live through them and because they laid the foundations of a potentially great nation.
Similarly, I don't devalue the lives and witness of
those with whom the Christian tradition or "faith" of today's
Church began. I trust them because they gave
themselves in a multitude of ways to Jesus, the first pioneer. I am a
Christian because they were faithful.
But trusting them as my ancestors in "the
faith" doesn't mean I have to willy-nilly think and believe as they
did. On the contrary, I interpret God's creation very differently from them.
To take
an extreme instance of how I cannot follow my ancestors just because they
believed this or that: Some of them persecuted and
ruthlessly killed those they called heretics. No sane Christian authority
today would require of me that I have that sort of "faith". No
bishop or Pope would require intellectual assent to propositions for which
people were once cruelly murdered, just because a Church authority pronounced them the correct thing to
believe.
If that is the case, on what grounds can I possibly be required
to assent to the proposition, for example, that "God is three and God
is one" as a matter of so-called "faith"? If this is
"The Faith" then I'm fairly sure I want no part of it. But I am
content to be part of what was pioneered by my ancestors in "The Faith"
and I don't discount them just because what they did no longer serves me
well.
Thus if faith is trust rather than belief, I find I
don't have to be caught up in straining my brain to believe
this or that often apparently absurd or patently false tradition. I am not
put right with God by the rightness of my mental state.
Instead, I'm freed to honour and learn from the faith of
the saints - when it makes sense to me to do so.
Having said this, it's important to point out that
today's common usage of faith as belief isn't necessarily
consistent with traditional roots. For example, Martin Luther is usually
recognised as the "father" of Protestantism. While he thought
that believing is important, his main theme related to trust. He wrote,
"The person who does not have faith is like someone who has to
cross the sea, but is so frightened that he does not trust the
ship." Faith for him is the choice to trust the promises of
God. 
____________________________________________________________
[1] The Discarded Image by CS Lewis (1964) and The Use and
Abuse of the
Bible (1976) by Dennis Nineham are good introductions to this exploration.
[2] The following review the subject:
Christian Theology, AE McGrath (1994)
A New Dictionary of Christian Theology (1983)
Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (1992)
The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (1997)
The Modern Theologians, Ed. DF Ford (1997)
[3] Honest to God, 1963 and the New Reformation (1965)
[4] Why Christianity Must Change or Die and The Bishop's Voice (1999)
[5] See my brief essay on Belief
See
also Hal Fulton's work at www.hypermetrics.com/personal/frd.html
[6] According to A Greek English Lexicon, Liddell & Scott
(1961); A Manual
Greek Lexicon of the New Testament, G
Abbott-Smith (1964); Hebrew and
English Lexicon of the Old Testament,
Brown, Driver & Briggs (1907)
[7] I am indebted to the Revd R Colby for these elements of trust
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