Wiser students than I, of both life itself and the Biblical texts in particular, would know the real distinction between faith and belief.

To me, it just appears that faith and belief both stand for that one paradox at the heart of a religious person’s life: that you must choose to be convinced of something.

It’s a paradox, of course, because the state of being convinced—or “conviction”—is involuntary. It happens to you (much like a legal conviction: it’s a reflection of the reality of one’s standing with the law, regardless of one’s desire or choice at the moment of sentencing). The conviction which is said to accompany belief is described as “compelling”—again, a word portraying the action of an outside force urging one in a particular direction, seemingly without regard for their will.  

But as belief pertains to religion—to matters of faith—a very willful element of choice is at work simultaneously. Faith resulting purely from empirical proof has little to be commended for; it would be hard to even call such a phenomena “faith.” The act of belief seems to show a bowing of the knee of Reason at the feet of Faith. 

The Order of Knowing

If one becomes convinced of the necessity of faith in a reasonably uncertain world, how does one decide where they will bend their rational knee? How does one decide where to pledge the allegiance of their faith? Surely, reason plays a real role: while we can’t require absolute proof of faith claims, an empirically disproven belief system is not one we can espouse “in good faith.”  

And yet, our heart-held faith can’t only be a matter of the most rational option available to us. Personally, I’ve staked everything I can on a trust that goes deeper than just the most plausible argument.

And that is because I find myself unable to will to believe that reality is anything other than Love at it’s core. 

I find myself unable to will to believe that reality is anything other than Love at it’s core. 

Cogent arguments alone cannot justify love; love doesn’t ask to be justified. Love does, however, demand trust. And when appealing to Love itself as the ultimate rule of reality, this is an absolute trust.

For what it’s worth, I think a rational argument could be made for this. Also-for-what-it’s-worth, that’s not why I think it’s worth believing that Love Par Excellence should be trusted. I can show you from a list of ingredients, for instance, that a cake should taste good; actually tasting it is all around the better way to reach this conclusion—or at least taking the word of a friend with a decent palate. It’s my conviction that we pretty consistently get our epistemological recipes in the wrong order.

Truest, Best, Most Beautiful

Love, like belief, presents within the human heart paradoxically. It represents that which is in control of us, yet also that which we choose.

I do not say that ultimately we can choose what we will love. But I know that we can render the works of love to whatever it is that we wish to love most. And even if these actions do not alter the intensity with which we are drawn to that object (though I think they likely would), such a devoted choice, even without the attending emotions, seems to be exactly what true love would commend. 

Love represents that which controls us, yet also that which we choose.

Classically speaking, the trifecta of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty would vouch for each other. Anything which genuinely partook of one of those sublime qualities would also necessarily possess the others. Distinct yet unified elements—separate but concatenated. 

It’s no wonder that we struggle to really believe in anything today: ours is no longer a world of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, but rather one of evidence, usefulness, and pleasure. The latter three are not evil, but they are certainly not ultimate. Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, however, are ideals worth loving in their own right—worth my devoted seeking just for what they are.

Of those precious three, if one of them is found, the will can be marshalled to follow it to the other two. If we have caught a glimpse of something of real Beauty in the wild, then we may chase it down—follow it back to its den, as it were—and see it dwelling with the very essences of Truth and Goodness also. 

Maybe it’s only by this kind of seeking out—or “hunting down”—of that quarry which the soul knows to be worthy of our love, that we can find something worth believing in. Evidence alone won’t make a sure enough basis; analytical evidence only says what is there and not what is worth loving about what is there. 

Faith is each of our ultimate allegiance resulting from our dearest love

The same lack is found in usefulness and pleasure also; they describe the qualities of what is there but can give no ultimate, intrinsic significance to their objects. (And happily, I believe Truth, Goodness, and Beauty generally provide evidence, usefulness, and pleasure as they practically work themselves out in the world. But it’s as crucial to correctly understand this causal order as it is to understand that a birthday cake from my wife is best enjoyed as a gesture of her love, rather than simply being a delicious dessert.)

We will all believe in what we love. Another word for this is faith—our ultimate allegiance resulting from our dearest love. 

In one very real sense, I can choose what that love is going to be for my own heart. 

In another sense—a truer, better, and more beautiful one—I believe the Heart of that Love has already chosen me.