Doubt: A Dive off the Deep End…

Doubt: so often described as faith’s opposite, existing only where faith is in exile. As something to be avoided, something accompanied by dread whenever it pays us a visit. Something we never address our Christmas cards to, much less ask to join us for Sunday morning service.

Take the following sign I saw at a local church not too long ago:

Generated by Church Sign Maker: http://www.says-it.com/churchsigns/

Obviously I’ve recreated it here, but the saying is true to what I’d read that day: your doubts make you weak. Faith alone takes strength.

And I couldn’t disagree more.

Rather than faith’s opposite, doubt is faith’s complement. It is the testing grounds, the deep end of the pool, where you prove to yourself that you’re ready to take a swim in the vast ocean of life. This ocean I call “Mystery.”

Faith without doubt is dimensionless, uninspired, immobile. Blind.

It’s nothing more than a sheet of paper with a few pithy (and likely unexamined) sayings on it. It can’t take a breath, and it definitely can’t give you breath when you’re having trouble catching yours. It has no legs with which to take a journey, much less accompany you on yours.

And above all else, faith without doubt is trapped, unseeing, unable to derive solutions of escape from the trials of life. It guiles us into thinking that it is our only hero, until we inhale deeply and test it, and find it toppling. After all, a piece of paper doesn’t see that it lacks legs for standing.

Faith arrived at through doubt, on the other hand, is full-bodied, breath-taking; it is a chariot. A visionary.

Starburst Galaxy M82, Courtesy NASA

It is something that can assume the shape of the entire universe; it may even hide extra dimensions not experienced by our ordinary senses. Its inhales the air of the spirit for its vitality, and gains synergy when we breathe with it. It can take a long, contemplative stroll with us, or it can gallop along with exhilaration. Winged, it can even take flight.

And faith through doubt has a million eyes, discerning truths that underlie (and often form the foundation of) the reality around us, much like the physics of the quantum world that collaborates to create the physical world we experience.

Doubt isn’t what’s left when faith is removed, because doubt is defined not by what it lacks, but by what it seeks. Doubt is the genius of our curiosity, the instrument of our investigation.

Doubt is the question inside of us, wanting to become manifest—to be asked. And because the question isn’t a solitary creature, it wants to be shared—to co-exist with others’ questions—so together they can help us see the shape of our universe, a shape we can discern even if we never do arrive at the answer. And it is the courage to ask our question despite the fear of ridicule from those too afraid to examine the questions inside of them—and despite the fear that if we do discover the answer, it may not be what we had hoped.

Question anyone who requires you to set aside your innate (God-given?) sense of curiosity, who tells you that faith means believing dogma that contradicts your experience of the world or your sense of justice. If you are being told that an all-loving God, created in truth, is deceiving you as a “test” of your faith, question whether this sounds like love or truth.

As with almost everything, doubt is best in moderation. There is little in human experience that is better the more you have. The same is true with doubt. You should have enough to keep you searching, but not so much that you become crippled and your search must end. When that occurs, you may have to find a mentor you trust—that you are willing to put your faith in—to help navigate until you are healed enough to begin your journey anew.

It takes courage to admit, “I don’t know.” Because when we are willing to be humble, we must also be willing to muster courage. This is a lesson I am still learning every day. When someone asks me a question I can’t answer, I get anxious. I get caught up in my ego, searching for a response that “proves” I am worthy of their faith in me to answer. But as I grow older—and hopefully a little wiser—I am growing more willing to answer, “I don’t know.” This often sparks discussion or inspires research until we arrive at a satisfying response. And that is far more fulfilling than feeding my ego with a quick pat on my back when I give a curt answer that will likely be forgotten immediately.

Remember, not knowing isn’t an embarrassment. It’s a start. When we understand what we don’t know, our journey begins.

And what we find isn’t our minds growing weaker, but our spirits gaining strength. By having the courage to test the waters on the deep end of the swimming pool of doubt, we ready ourselves for diving into the vast ocean of faith. We become united with the Mystery itself.