Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith. Paul Tillich, Dynamics of Faith
A disclaimer: For most of my life, I’ve had an intimate relationship with doubt. Over the years, self-doubt grew to be a constant and insistent companion. In classrooms and social gatherings, I hung back, watched, and waited as others eagerly asserted themselves into conversations and activities. As I examined myself in mirrors, doubt stood at my shoulder, a stern matron who scrutinized what I’d chosen to wear or how I styled my hair. As I navigated relationships, doubt held court as the great inquisitor: Should I say this? Or this? Or nothing? Should I do this? Or this? Or nothing? In truth, many are plagued by self-doubt, and I’ve come to see that my own experience is more universal than unique.
At its worst, doubt can cripple and destroy, paralyzing individuals from actively participating in their lives. This is largely why almost everything we hear or read casts doubt as a foe, an enemy to be hunted down and finally vanquished. Doubt is an adversary that robs us of confidence and certainty; it spreads like a malignancy and kills the good cells of our well-being. At least, that’s what we’re often told. I recall a group of high school students proudly offering the words of a popular coach to the class one day: Say what you mean, and mean what you say. They lauded the wisdom of these words. Words to live by, they said. At 16, they believed that living life well was all about being certain and proclaiming this certainty with passion. For them, doubt was a bad character trait, an attribute of the weak and indifferent.
In spite of some dark times with doubt, I’ve found that it’s generally been more blessing than curse. Recently, I read Austrian poet Ranier Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet. He writes to Franz Xaver Kappus, a 19-year-old cadet at the Theresian Miliatry Accademy in Wiener Nestadt. I was taken by his words to Kappus on doubt:
And your doubt can become a good quality if you train it. It must become knowing, it must become criticism. Ask it, whenever it wants to spoil something for you, why something is ugly, demand proofs from it, test it, and you will find it perhaps bewildered and embarrassed, perhaps also protesting. But don’t give in, insist on arguments, and act in this way, attentive and persistent, every single time, and the day will come when, instead of being a destroyer, it will become one of your best workers–perhaps the most intelligent of all the ones that are building your life.
Perhaps, like Rilke, we might take a closer, more positive look at doubt. Perhaps, if we would train it, doubt might become one of our best workers, maybe even the most intelligent of all the ones that are building our lives. When I think of the times I’ve wrestled most strenuously with doubt, I confess that the struggle has almost always been a redemptive one. True, it has been wraught with sleepless nights and some intense soul-searching. Like Rilke, I asked much of my doubt. I demanded that it prove itself and come clean with a resolution, whatever that may be. During these wrestling matches, I felt as though I were in an old-time melodrama, an angel in white and a devil in black perched on opposing shoulders. One would assert an argument, as the other prepared to counter. This might go on for days–or months. And though some might regard this as unnecessary psychological and emotional torture, I’ve come to see it as a redemptive struggle. That is, as I worked through my doubt, I began to shape the underpinnings of my own worldview. I began to understand who it was I wanted to be and how I wanted to live.
My friends and family were both alternately bemused and amused during a few weeks in the late 80s when I wrestled with whether or not to use the funds I’d saved from teaching an extra night class to remodel our upstairs bathroom. On one hand, I really wanted to replace our tub with a walk-in shower, to purchase a new vanity, and to generally bring the decor into the 80s (it had been stuck in the gold and avocado 60s for much too long). But on the other hand, I didn’t know if I could justify spending money on something that wasn’t truly necessary. I struggled with a materialism that seemed decadent. My doubts over whether or not to remodel consumed me for a time. In hopes of gaining clarity, I read several books that offered a faith-based perspective on money. In the end, I decided that it was o.k. to remodel our bathroom. Most importantly, however, as I wrestled with my doubts, I began to develop a healthy sense of stewardship that has served me well through the years.
French scientist and philosopher René Descartes claimed that “[i]f you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.” As I watch political and cultural battles rage today, I’m convinced that most of us would do well to take Descartes’ words to heart (and mind). That is, we shouldn’t discount the vital role that doubt plays in the search for truth. All my life, I’ve been amazed at the quick confidence of those around me, in both my personal circle as well as on the world stage. The certainty with which some speak and act often astounds me–and often saddens me. It seems as though these individuals never doubt themselves, never consider the gray areas, never wrestle with the what-ifs. Without an active sense of doubt, it seems as though they’ve become blind and deaf to opposing ideas and positions. Without doubt, it seems as if they aren’t truly seeking truth. “Where doubt is, there truth is–that is her shadow,” writes American short story writer and journalist Ambrose Bierce who understood the partnership of doubt and truth to be a healthy and necessary one.
In Camden Conversations, American writer Walt Whitman extolled the virtues of doubt, which he regarded as a kind of “scientific spirit”:
I like the scientific spirit—the holding off, the being sure but not too sure, the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them: this is ultimately fine—it always keeps the way beyond open—always gives life, thought, affection, the whole man, a chance to try over again after a mistake—after a wrong guess.
Although it’s true that doubt may result in self-deprecation and even self-loathing, it’s also true that doubt can–and perhaps should–result in humility: the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them, the chance to try over again after a mistake or wrong guess. I consider the times when I’ve misjudged, times during which my doubt gratefully rescued me from myself and set me on a truer, more humane course. Having battered me until I came to my senses, doubt kept the way beyond open and offered the possibility for starting over.
When it comes to faith–spiritual or otherwise–there are those who argue that doubt foils belief. In one of my favorite Philip Roth short shories, “The Conversion of the Jews,” the young Jewish protagonist, Ozzie, has many questions for his teacher, Rabbi Binder. Much to the dismay of his friend and classmate, Itzie, Ozzie continues to wrestle with the idea of a virgin birth, with an immaculate conception. As a Jew, Ozzie has been taught that Jesus is a prophet, an extraordinary man, but that his birth was a typical, human birth. But Ozzie wrestles with sincere doubts, reasoning that if God could create the entire universe in six days, it wouldn’t be impossible for him to impregnate Mary. He shares this reasoning with Itzie after class:
“Anyway, I asked Binder if He could make all that in six days, and He could pick the six days He wanted right out of nowhere, why couldn’t He let a woman have a baby without having intercourse.”
When the Rabbi begins–again–to explain that Jesus was a historical figure, that he lived as a man, Ozzie persists and later tells Itzie, “So I said I understood that. What I wanted to know was different.” Roth tells us that what Ozzie wants to know is always different, that doubt is an active agent in his spiritual life. During free discussion time the next school day, Ozzie offers his reasoning once again, exclaiming “Why can’t He [God] make anything He wants to make!” and accusing Rabbi Binder of not knowing anything about God. When Binder insists that he apologize for his outburst and accusation, Ozzie continues his line of reasoning, reasserting that his teacher doesn’t understand anything about God. In frustration, Binder slaps him. Shocked, Ozzie calls his teacher a “bastard” and then flees from the classroom, taking refuge on the rooftop where he locks the door behind him. Bedlam ensues, as classmates, Binder, and eventually his mother anxiously stand in the school yard below and beg him to come down. The fire department arrives, and firefighters haul out a large net in preparation for Ozzie’s possible leap from the roof. After much begging and cajoling, Ozzie agrees to come down–but only after all who are gathered below kneel and confess that they believe in Jesus Christ and the immaculate conception. Satisfied with their confession, he jumps into the firefighers’ net, and the story ends.
As readers, we don’t get to see how Ozzie’s faith journey plays out over his lifetime. Although he is a fictional character, I think it’s safe to say that his doubts reflect those of many individuals who question their faith. And if he were a real person, I think it’s safe to say that his doubts would play an important role in shaping his faith. Like many who wrestle with questions of faith, in the end, I believe Ozzie’s doubts would prove to be more beneficial than harmful.
German-American philosopher and Lutheran theologian Paul Tillich would see that Ozzie’s doubt is not “opposite of faith; it is one element of faith.” In “Faith and Doubt, Friends or Foes?” author and theologian Stephen D. Morrison expounds on Tillich’s statement:
When faith is defined as the belief in an object or set of facts, then faith is opposed to doubt. But, as Tillich argues, when faith is defined properly as the state of being ultimately concerned then doubt is included in that concern and is indeed necessary to its existence. Faith and doubt are then not opposite acts, but co-dependent acts.
Clearly, many would argue that faith is, indeed, the belief in an object or set of facts; they would reject Tillich’s assertions that faith is the state of ultimately being concerned and that faith and doubt are co-dependent acts. Still, I think Tillich and Morrison give us much to consider here. Before critics summarily dismiss the idea of doubt as a vital element of faith, perhaps they might look to those pillars of faith in their own lives. I’m guessing that they’d be hard-pressed to find one of those individuals who hadn’t encountered doubt in his or her faith journey. In fact, I’m guessing that those individuals became pillars of faith because they actively and humbly wrestled with their doubts.
Thomas, one of the twelve apostles, doubted Christ’s resurrection. In John 20: 25, he tells his fellow apostles: “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” Consider Thomas who lived and worked alongside Jesus, who heard him speak and witnessed his miracles, and yet, who doubted. A week later, when Jesus appears to the group, he instructs Thomas to touch his side and see his nail-scarred hands, to stop doubting and believe. A reluctant missionary, Thomas continues to struggle in his faith until years later, he plants seeds for the Christian church along the western coast of India. Today, Saint Thomas is venerated as the Apostle of India. A population of Indian Christians who live along the Malabar Coast lay claim to conversion by the saint whom we’ve come to know as “doubting Thomas.”
This is by no means an argument against certainty. Rather, this is a proposal to look more carefully–and compassionately–at the role of doubt in our lives. I realize that this may buck current trends that encourage us to purge our doubt, to beat it back when it rears its ugly head, and, by doing so, to become our best, most confident selves. Still, I propose that we consider the words of English philosopher and statesman Francis Bacon, who like Tillich, valued the integral role that doubt can play in one’s search for truth:
If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts, but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.
