By this point you've noticed the blog's subheading: doubt is faith's soil
I admit that it's a bit of a cheesy one-liner, but it conveniently sums up how I feel skepticism and Mormonism work together.
In the Book of Mormon, Alma offers a metaphor describing faith like a seed. After it's planted and nourished, it eventually turns into knowledge. That's all fine of course, but how does someone go about nourishing the seed of faith?
Faith is, after all, merely a religiously laden term for trust. It comes from the Latin fidere, which is the verb "to trust." When the many writers of the scriptures command us to have faith in Jesus Christ, all they are really saying is that we are supposed to actually trust Him. That's all. We exercise faith literally every day with virtually every person we meet. Most of that faith is so normative, it doesn't even require thought. I exercise a great deal of faith that someone else's mistake won't cost me my life when I leave my house. But without faith that I can leave my house safely, there's no sense in ever leaving. Without faith I would be immobilized.
Naturally, not everything should be taken on faith. Not everyone claiming to be a Nigerian prince in an email is actually a prince. Or Nigerian for that matter. Trusting some things requires doubting others. Lacking doubt means believing everything, which apart from being silly is technically impossible. In essence, it's possible to believe too much (believe it or not).
Doubt and faith are essentially alternatives. But they have an even deeper connection to each other than that. It's impossible to truly have faith without believing that there's a chance, however small, that the thing we are trusting could be wrong. Faith doesn't exist without doubt, without that tiny itch at the back of your head that tells you that you might just be wrong. Granted, the itch isn't always there, especially for rudimentary tasks such as leaving the house. But for any activity where faith is a conscious choice, doubt lingers somewhere in the same room. To have faith means to doubt and then overcome that doubt with trust. Growing trust is a slow, often painstaking process. Because trust in God is not always immediately or clearly rewarded, it is a difficult trust to cultivate. However, as we intuitively know from interacting with just about anyone, rewarded trust increases trust. As trust grows, it pulls away from doubt, like a plant from its soil. But as long as it's still faith, then doubt is what gives it strength.
I admit that it's a bit of a cheesy one-liner, but it conveniently sums up how I feel skepticism and Mormonism work together.
In the Book of Mormon, Alma offers a metaphor describing faith like a seed. After it's planted and nourished, it eventually turns into knowledge. That's all fine of course, but how does someone go about nourishing the seed of faith?
Faith is, after all, merely a religiously laden term for trust. It comes from the Latin fidere, which is the verb "to trust." When the many writers of the scriptures command us to have faith in Jesus Christ, all they are really saying is that we are supposed to actually trust Him. That's all. We exercise faith literally every day with virtually every person we meet. Most of that faith is so normative, it doesn't even require thought. I exercise a great deal of faith that someone else's mistake won't cost me my life when I leave my house. But without faith that I can leave my house safely, there's no sense in ever leaving. Without faith I would be immobilized.
Naturally, not everything should be taken on faith. Not everyone claiming to be a Nigerian prince in an email is actually a prince. Or Nigerian for that matter. Trusting some things requires doubting others. Lacking doubt means believing everything, which apart from being silly is technically impossible. In essence, it's possible to believe too much (believe it or not).
Doubt and faith are essentially alternatives. But they have an even deeper connection to each other than that. It's impossible to truly have faith without believing that there's a chance, however small, that the thing we are trusting could be wrong. Faith doesn't exist without doubt, without that tiny itch at the back of your head that tells you that you might just be wrong. Granted, the itch isn't always there, especially for rudimentary tasks such as leaving the house. But for any activity where faith is a conscious choice, doubt lingers somewhere in the same room. To have faith means to doubt and then overcome that doubt with trust. Growing trust is a slow, often painstaking process. Because trust in God is not always immediately or clearly rewarded, it is a difficult trust to cultivate. However, as we intuitively know from interacting with just about anyone, rewarded trust increases trust. As trust grows, it pulls away from doubt, like a plant from its soil. But as long as it's still faith, then doubt is what gives it strength.
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