Certain

Elsewhere, inspired by Eric Voegelin’s The New Science of Politics, I argued for uncertainty over certainty as a way of seeing the world, and specifically suggested that religious faith is, or should be, “closer to hope than certainty.” My Institute colleague David Brenner disagrees: “David Blankenhorn seeks to translate the idea of uncertainty into a kind of spiritual principle, and by doing so, implicitly embraces relativism. Certainty is clearly dangerous when its object is false. Yet most great acts in human history - think of Martin Luther King, William Wilberforce, or Mother Theresa - stem from certainty regarding something that is true.

Regarding Jewish and Christian faith, the notion that uncertainty ought to reign in our understanding of spiritual reality is at odds with biblical revelation. The first commandment given to Moses is: ‘Here O Israel, the Lord your God, the Lord your God is one. Thou shall have no Gods before me.’ Jesus teaches that the greatest commandment is to love the Lord with all of your heart and soul and strength and mind. These commands presume the possibility of certainty, for how can one love God with all of one’s heart if one is not even sure he has rightly discerned the true God? At stake in the issue about certainty is the very possibility of binding revelation. Moreover, certainty in knowing and loving the true God is the best and only antidote to political fanaticism and human misery. 

The scriptures teach us that sureness of faith is a gift, a supernatural work upon the heart. (We do not choose God as much as God chooses us.) The New Testament teaches that God’s spirit, the Holy Spirit, comes to live within the believer. For Christians, this occurrence is the ultimate source of assurance, or, if you will, certainty. Paul writes that Christ’s followers “have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us.” And since this is entirely a gift, due in no part to the merit of the believer, arrogance or pride is unwarranted and in fact precluded.

David Blankenhorn misreads the definition of Christian faith found in Hebrews 11:1. Faith is not mere hope; it is real and substantive. The New International Version’s translation conveys this meaning: ‘Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.’ The trajectory of faith is toward greater certainty, not less. Luke informs us that his purpose in investigating and writing his gospel is ‘so that you may know the certainty of things you have been taught.’ And Jesus says, ‘If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’

That’s not to say that Christians never experience doubt or misinterpret divine commands. But the antidote to these problems cannot be to install uncertainty as a tenet. In due time, God restores those who are truly His. Jesus commended childlike faith, and like Jesus, Christians ought to pray: ‘I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.’”

These are strong points, and in so many ways I admire, and seek for myself, the unwavering faith that rests behind them. I particularly like and will remember the warning about how the “wise and learned” can be blind to what is most important. At the same time, my friend David Brenner goes where I cannot go. I agree with him that it’s better to be certain only about things that are true, but for me this formulation only begs the question. What are the true things about which I should be certain, and why am I certain that they are true? David Brenner is certain about Christianity, mostly due to his “real and substantive” faith in God. But again, the proposition is somewhat circular, since it suggests that I know with certainty what is true because God tells me what is true. I see the argument, but it doesn’t strike me as very . . . humble.

To me, this type of certainty of knowledge must ultimately stem less from intellectual inquiry (though I know that intellectual inquiry is part of it) than from what the knower understands to be a personally transforming and “true” relationship with God. (“God restores those who are truly His.”) In some ways, as a Christian, and as someone who declines relativism, I wish I had such certain knowledge. But I don’t. (Maybe part of my argument on this issue was defensive or jealous in nature.) For now, I have to settle for hope. 

First published Winter 2001.