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May 19, 2004
Hello everyone,
Have you ever said of yourself that you lacked faith? In one sense, this admission is literally true: in another, it is a fallacy. We will take a look at these claims in a moment, but first let’s provide some basic groundwork upon which to build. When I looked up the word “faith”in my electronic dictionary, I was interested to learn the origins of the word. Dating back to the 13th century via the Old French feid, it comes from the Latin word fides, meaning “trust, belief.” But what interested me even more was that fides is the same root from which we derive our English words “confide” and “fealty.” This linguistic adaptation is hardly a coincidence when we stop and consider the nature of what it means to confide in someone or reflect upon the essence of fealty.
Let us first take a look at what it means to “confide.” If we again look at the etymology of this word, we will see that fides has taken on the conjugation fidere, which means “to trust”: specifically the Latin word is confidere: “to put your trust in.” We can see from the onset that “confide” is a verb that elicits some kind of response on our part as the “confider” to the one in whom we do the confiding. The basic definitions of the words are listed as (1) tell something secret to somebody, (2) give something over to somebody’s care, and (3) trust in somebody, a now largely archaic usage of the word. Yet even if to trust in somebody has largely fallen into disuse, we could say that our first two definitions hinge from this third understanding, for we would be foolish to tell someone a secret or to trust some material good over to his care if we did not first trust in him. We can see that the word confide has built into its meaning a strong element of trust—and trust is a strong component of faith.
Now we move on to a deeper understanding as we look at the nature of fealty. Fealty comes from the days of feudalism where a vassal swore allegiance, or fealty, to his liege lord. The word “fealty” comes to us via the Old French feau(l)te, from the Latin word fidelitas from whence our word “fidelity” is derived. Fidelity itself has four different meanings, each of which involves a reflection of this concept we have been dancing all around: (1) loyalty, (2) sexual faithfulness, (3) factual accuracy, and (3) in the field of electronic engineering, the precision of audio or video reproduction. We can see that the common thread in each of these definitions is faithfulness to a common source: loyalty to a marriage partner, to the facts, and to the electronic source from which we wish to generate copies. Each of these elements seeks to preserve, conserve, and uphold the object of its attention or affection: to be faithful and true. Woven together, these various strands—a “cord of three” not easily broken—consistute fidelity, and fidelity in turn is built into the very fabric of fealty, fealty into confidence, confidence into faith. When a vassal pledged his allegiance to his lord, he swore to protect him, uphold him, and preserve him from harm. (You might also be interested in reviewing the November 19, 2003, issue of Le Penseur Réfléchit, All Praise and Honor Be: Fealty to our Lord and King, in which we trace the history of feudalism throughout France and examine how this affects our conception of Christian stewardship.)
Gi (Honesty and Justice): Be acutely honest throughout your dealings with all people. Believe in justice, not from other people, but from yourself. To the true Samurai, there are no shades of gray in the question of honesty and justice. There is only right and wrong.
Rei (Polite Courtesy): Samurai have no reason to be cruel. They do not need to prove their strength. A Samurai is courteous even to his enemies. Without this outward show of respect, we are nothing more than animals. A Samurai is not only respected for his strength in battle, but also by his dealings with other men. The true inner strength of a Samurai becomes apparent during difficult times.
Yu (Heroic Courage): Rise up above the masses of people that are afraid to act. Hiding like a turtle in a shell is not living at all. A Samurai must have heroic courage. It is absolutely risky. It is dangerous. It is living life completely, fully, wonderfully. Heroic courage is not blind. It is intelligent and strong. Replace fear with respect and caution.
Meiyo (Honour): A true Samurai has only one judge of his honour, and that is himself. Decisions you make and how these decisions are carried out are a reflection of who you truly are. You cannot hide from yourself.
Jin (Compassion): Through intense training the Samurai becomes quick and strong. He is not as other men. He develops a power that must be used for the good of all. He has compassion. He helps his fellow man at every opportunity. If an opportunity does not arise, he goes out of his way to find one.
Makoto (Complete Sincerity): When a Samurai has said he will perform an action, it is as good as done. Nothing will stop him from completing what he has said he will do. He does not have to “give his word.” He does not have to “promise.” The action of speaking alone has set the act of doing in motion. Speaking and doing are the same action.
Chu (Duty and Loyalty): For the Samurai, having done some “thing” or said some “thing,” he knows he owns that “thing.” He is responsible for it and all the consequences that follow. A Samurai is immensely loyal to those in his care. To those he is responsible for, he remains fiercely true.
We see elements of feudalism in both the East and the West, the recent blockbuster movie The Last Samurai starring Tom Cruise providing a picture of how fealty might have looked within the feudal system of the Samurai. If you have seen this movie, you, along with Cruise’s character Captain Algren, were likely surprised to learn that samurai means “to serve.” These warriors followed the ethical code known as bushido, which means “the way of the warrior.” In this code, we find additional clues as to what fealty meant (see side bar at left). Admittedly, the movie is historically glamorized, Japan-Guide.com one of many sites highlighting some of the difficulties associated with this particular piece of cinema. With that admission fully in view, bushido nonetheless communicates something of the value system implicit in the word fealty. What we will also notice as we look over this list is that each of these inner virtues has its own outward manifestation. In fact, has that not been a consistent theme as we have looked at the words “confide” and “fealty,” both of which share the same roots as our word “faith”?
Chu (duty and loyalty) is at the center of our lives, for we conform ourselves to the will of our Master who has bought us with a price. This gives our lives purpose and is the basis of our meiyo (honor). We require yu (heroic courage), the most basic of virtues, for only with it in place are the other virtues given wings with which to fly. Our lives incorporate gi (honesty and justice), for without these twin virtues, we cannot even know ourselves much less another, nor can we be trusted by our Lord to whom we have pledged our lives. It is to the benefit of ourselves and others that we have gi (honesty and justice), for together we are strong—divided we fragment even ourselves. Because we remain true and loyal to our Master and likewise to ourselves, we can practice rei (polite courtesy) for we have nothing to prove and jin (compassion) for we understand our own weaknesses. Our “yes” means “yes” and our “no” means “no,” makoto (complete sincerity) the harmonization of our outward actions with our inward intentions, for “the action of speaking alone has set the act of doing in motion, speaking and doing are the same action”—otherwise, we would not have spoken.
If this combination of the seven virtues together forms the idea of fealty, and if it also incorporates the concept of “confiding in” in which we place not only our trust in another, but our very lives, what does this suggest about “faith” which also shares the same root—fides—with “fealty” and “confide”? And what does this then imply about our original admission that we lack faith and the statement that “in one sense, this admission is literally true: in another, it is a fallacy”? Perhaps we could begin by noting that it no accident when we speak of an “act of faith”: to be healed, the crippled man had to stretch out his hand (Matthew 12:9–13). It might be such a thing that what we often lack is not faith, but rather yu, heroic courage. It only takes faith the size of a mustard seed to move mountains and if we had no faith, we would not be where we are today; we would not be reading articles about faith such as this one. But in another sense, we are indeed “without faith,” or, more to the point, we are “faithless.” For faith means that the small grain has to be acted upon, drawn out, developed. We often say that if we just had proof, when it is often courage that we lack. It is something like J. Budziszewski writes in Escape from Nihilism:
In my present opinion (though not my opinion of sixteen years ago), modern ethics is going about matters backwards. It assumes that the problem of human sin is mainly cognitive—that it has to do with the state of our knowledge. In other words, it holds that we really don’t know what’s right and wrong and that we are trying to find out. Actually the problem is volitional—it has to do with the state of our will. In other words, by and large we do know the basics of right and wrong but wish we didn’t, and we are trying, for one reason or another, to keep ourselves in ignorance.
Further, he goes on to shed some rare insight onto our condition: “Because the presence of God made me more and more uncomfortable, I began looking for reasons to believe that He didn’t exist. It’s a funny thing about us human beings: not many of us doubt God’s existence and then start sinning. Most of us sin and then start doubting His existence” (emphasis mine). We tend to become like the thing upon which we focus: if we lead a lie, our whole self becomes a little bit more lie-like; if we feed paranoia, the world becomes one giant conspiracy. I describe some of my own observations in The Different I with Different Eyes:
When I was heavily involved in dealing illegal drugs before my conversion, I became highly adept at being able to read people, to see through them, to pin them to the wall. What I was able to see, however, was scheming, plotting, insurrection—in a word, sin. Drawing so close to my ultimate master, the god of this world, I became able to discern wickedness from an hundred yards away, or so I thought. I was, if you will, the spoiled rotten princess Rosamond, her face grubby, her hair unkempt, so soon forgetting my peaceful slumber in The Wise Woman’s loving arms: “The wrong in her was this—that she had led such a bad life, that she did not know a good woman when she saw her—took her for one like herself, even after she had slept in her arms.” Yet there was a glimmer of good left in me, for when I was confronted by innocence, I was forced to turn away.
Indeed, when I was enfolded in the web of darkness, I could see little but that darkness: I could not see the Wise Woman’s arms outstretched toward me in loving embrace, nor would I have believed it if I could. I saw darkness in another with startling acuity, to such a degree that I was able to see the good less and less, an increasing blindness to the things of goodness clouding my soul. I was filled with guilt and shame which mercilessly weighed me down. Anyone who has ever suffered from an obsession surely knows this syndrome.
When I became consumed with my secret sin, I felt the shame and guilt of this unholy preoccupation—like Gollum hell-bent on his “precious”—and the real world around me began to seem unreal: I felt distant, remote, lifeless, little more than a member of the undead walking. I felt no great passion stirring within my breast: I walked with leaden steps that didn’t feel the earth beneath, I saw with unseeing eyes, felt with unfeeling fingers, heard with unhearing ears; I had grown deaf to all but hell’s garish cacophony—cold from the ugly blemish I had allowed to tarnish my heart. My single greatest reality was my pain, my guilt, my suffering, my sin, my shame, my grief. I saw nothing else: only these things were real—they had become my world.
We will never see with the wide-open eyes of the deepest love while impurity lies buried within our hearts. Not one of us is innocent; confession and repentance are mandatory to see with the eyes of Christ, as much from a psychological perspective as a theological one. The key then, to holy living, is found in the renewing of our minds, the control center of our body. The first step in achieving this transcendent love is accomplished by aligning ourselves with the mind of Christ, careful not to let unconfessed sin, shame, and guilt be harbored in our hearts, for it will effectively deafen us to the voice of the Master. Indeed, sin must be dealt with first if one expects to achieve any higher level of living and reality. There is simply no other way.
Faith is a gift imparted to us by God, for He has formed man in such a way that there is an imprint within every man, woman, boy, and girl that recognizes He is there. Further, as the generous Giver, He makes Himself known through prevenient grace to the sinner who has become blinded by the darkness of his own sin. I have said many times that there is ultimately only one of two masters that we serve: ourselves or God. When we exult ourselves and pretend that the universe revolves around us, we are simply not big enough, simply not adequate to handle the strain. We did not create this world in which we find ourselves, nor do we have the slightest clue how to solve its problems within ourselves. What is more, sooner or later it will become clear to us that we can’t even solve our own problems, forcing us to confront the obvious truth or lead a lie. While Peter Kreeft speaks predominantly of sexual sin in The Liberal Arts and Sexual Morality, the principle is universal: “[T]he single most necessary requirement for morality, including sexual morality, is absolute honesty, standing in the light, demanding total conformity to reality, openness to the truth, practicing the presence of God, who is Truth. . . . You can’t be a totally honest thinker if you are living a lie. Your lived sexual lie will make everything in your life a little lie-like.” Yet if we care to get honest and throw up our hands in surrender, that is the moment where we will meet our Lord.
At every step along the way, faith is instilled within us: first by the gracious God without and then by the Holy Spirit within. We know that we did not create this world, we know that there is a mystery to this universe that points us, along with the inner whisper of our restless hearts, to that something or someone more we call God. The question is often not a matter of having faith, but of whether we are going to act upon what faith we have already been given. Further, as the book of James declares and social psychology confirms, there is a direct relationship between faith and action. Malcolm Jeeves, Emeritus Professor of Psychology at the University of St. Andrews, makes the following observation about the relationship between faith and action:
The need to distinguish between intrinsic and extrinsic beliefs was underlined when correlational studies in the USA showed clearly that those who were more involved in religion also tended to be more neurotic, more racially prejudiced, more anti-semitic, and more anti-black. When, however an attempt was made to distinguish between those who held intrinsic beliefs versus those who held extrinsic beliefs it turned out that the intrinsic believers were regular church goers and also tended to be less prejudiced, less anti-Semitic, less anti-black and less neurotic. These findings also called for a rethink of the general assumption that our beliefs and attitudes determine our actions. If social psychology has taught us anything over [the] last thirty years, it is that the reverse is also true. We are as likely to act ourselves into a way of thinking, as to think ourselves into a way of acting. The way the social psychologist puts it is to say that it is now a fundamental rule of social psychology that behaviour and attitude generate one another in an endless spiral, like chicken and egg. This principle, as we all realise, affirms the biblical understanding of action and faith, or what Bonhoeffer called obedience and belief.
Much as conventional wisdom has insisted that our attitudes determine our behaviour, Christian thinking has at times unduly emphasised faith as the sole cause of action. What this research has shown is that it as important to remember the complementary view that faith is a consequence of action. In both the Old and New Testaments we are told that full knowledge of God comes through actively doing the Word. Faith is nurtured by obedience. Faith grows as we act on what little faith we have. Faith, said John Calvin, “Is born of obedience.” “The proof of Christianity really consists in ‘following’” declared Kierkegaard. Karl Barth agreed: “Only the doer of the word is its real hearer.” The outworking of this in the life of the church is all too obvious. Those churches that make their members active participants and not mere spectators are the ones that seem to be growing all the time. In this as in everything else the principle has its limits. It is possible to become so preoccupied with doing things that there’s no time left quietly to receive God’s word or God’s gracious direction of our lives. It is clear that here biblical and psychological perspectives join together in reminding us that faith is like love. If we hord it, it will shrivell. If we use it, exercise it, and express it, we will have it more abundantly. God comes through actively doing the Word. Faith is nurtured by obedience. (“The Impact of Psychological Research on Christian Beliefs and Practices” from Psychology and Christianity: The View Both Ways)
On the other side of the equation, our attitudes do determine our behavior, even as our behavior further reinforces our attitudes: be this for the good or for the bad. The quality of our character will to a large degree predict what kind of action we are likely to take: a bad man generally does not decide to do a good thing unless something has awoken within him: unless he is inwardly motivated, or, as we would say, “unless he has a change of heart.” Jeeves mentions that social scientists soon realized that they must differentiate between extrinsic and intrinsic beliefs because of the surprising results of their correlational data. Along similar lines, in one of my sociology classes we spoke about how few law enforcement officials there are per capita versus common citizens. If an insurrection were to break out, how effective would these agents be? But their law enforcement is helped out drastically by the fact that most of the citizens have internalized the mores and norms of society.
Imagine if those members of law enforcement were trying to impose a new regulation on people who had not internalized it and who did not want to follow it. As soon as the officials turned their backs, many people would go right back doing the very thing they had been told not to do: they would not care how they looked or what others thought, only that they escaped punishment. This type of extrinsic motivation is not nearly as effective in terms of steering the course of a person’s actions as is internalized, intrinsic motivation. The one is exterior to us; the other is a part of us we carry around inside everywhere we go.
For example, my entire life I have been raised in a culture that does things a certain way and I have absorbed these social norms: I chew with my mouth closed because I don’t want to appear impolite; I express sympathy at someone’s loss even if it has no real effect on me; I say “excuse me” and “thank you” at the appropriate times. Many of these things I do because I have internalized them. Though I am too polite to say anything, it seems a faux pas when someone eats with his mouth open around me; if a loved one has died, I expect that even strangers will tell me “I’m sorry to hear that” even if they really aren’t; I often find the person who does not say “excuse me” and “thank you” at the appropriate times arrogant and self-imposing. These are simply social niceties that are a part of my culture. Now in these instances, my intrinsic behavior may not be virtuous per se, but simply habit because of how I believe others perceive me.
There are, of course, different reasons for internalizing a particular belief, but, for good or for ill, beliefs are almost always reinforced by repetition. If I pursue my own selfish gain, I may internalize politeness to achieve my self-serving interests. But, on the other hand, if I desire to be virtuous, I may internalize politeness because I wish to be more loving and considerate of others. I am reminded of a PDF article entitled Promoting Tolerance: How to Make a Change that appeared on the site Gateways To Better Education:
Tolerance, in and of itself, is not a virtue. . . . Tolerance is neutral. Tolerance derives its value from what it is the person tolerates, and the manner in which that tolerance or intolerance is expressed. This involves character. . . . Proper tolerance is the outgrowth of character qualities such as kindness, patience, courtesy, humility, love, self-control, and courage. Even intolerance (especially intolerance!) should be expressed through these qualities. If you don’t understand that tolerance must be based on character, you’ll think you’re being tolerant when you’re actually only expressing indifference (“whatever”), or apathy (“who cares?”), or even recklessness (“why not?”). Improperly taught, “tolerance education” can lead to disarming you of your proper convictions.
We again witness the effect of the inward character flowing into outward expression. The indifferent or apathetic person lacks this inner quality of character essential to make a positive impact in the world about. These values coupled with his actions (or lack thereof) form a mutually self-affirming pattern that etches deep grooves into the operating system of the mind. We should also highlight that involved in this idea of active virtue, silence and inactivity have their proper place. There are many times when the person with wisdom understands a need to be silent, a need to sit quietly and wait. But there is a drastic difference between being silent when the occasion calls for it, and being indifferent or apathetic. The person of character understands the difference and is better able to keep a healthy balance, for his inward motivation is effected toward a greater good. This observation raises the question: “Can ‘virtue’ truly be called virtuous if it is not directed by a higher purpose?”
While we can see that there is an obvious correlation between faith and action, are there not still times in which we will to act, but nonetheless do not sense God’s guidance or presence? None of us are immune to that nagging sense of uncertainty and doubt, and sometimes the most devout of persons suffer most agonizingly from this symptom. Seen in the light of God’s total plan, sometimes doubt can be our friend. We rightly doubt ourselves, for we recognize that without God, we are nothing. But there is One greater than ourselves who testifies that within us resides the Living Spirit of God, and with His Spirit, the very Kingdom of Heaven. God does not dwell in temples made with the hands of men as though He needs anything, but rather in the human heart surrendered to His will and purpose. Our doubts can indeed serve to point us to the truth that we can accomplish nothing apart from God, and, what is more, there is a legitimate time in which we are called to wait upon the Lord. But we need to rouse ourselves and recognize that we are not alone, and, if we must, we can pray the proverbial prayer along with the man who desired so desperately that Jesus would heal his beloved son: “Oh Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief!” (Mark 9:17–29). If we thus rouse ourselves, even our inactivity becomes an active manifestation of faith.
There are some other very practical ways in which we can increase our faith. We can, for instance, profit fruitfully from reading our Bibles, for faith comes through hearing, and hearing from the word of God, the same Holy Spirit that bears testimony with our spirit also bears testimony to the words written by others who were themselves under the influence of this same Holy Spirit. We are, as it were, joining in fellowship with God and the saints when we read our Bibles. In addition to this form of fellowship, we can also have direct communion with God through prayer and can engage in fellowship with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. When we thus fellowship one with another, it provides a great source of immediate strength, stability, and encouragement. What is more, when we meet with God’s friends, He is there in our midst as well, for “Where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). If you have ever had this experience of sharing your doubts with a few trusted friends, you have likely noticed that your cares and concerns soon become much smaller and easier to handle than you supposed. Not only that, but often the things that were bothering you did not turn out to be at all what you thought, suggesting that in our human frailty, we are often unaware of our own hearts. The strange thing about being able to talk about our doubts and fears is that even when nothing has changed outwardly, somehow there is a release inwardly and we feel better, often sleeping better than we have in days.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). It is through the conduit of faith that we come into possession of heavenly treasure. And this heavenly treasure is itself evidence of things not seen. From whence does this faith derive? Ultimately from God, but even from His fingerprints in nature: “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse” (Romans 1:20). This heavenly treasure enacted by faith is inside of us, for we bear “this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). The very throne room of the Father is within our hearts: for “The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:20–21).
We have been conditioned by our society and culture to believe that the outside world of things is that which is most real and that spiritual things are merely psychological niceties at best. Yet once we grasp hold of this heavenly treasure by faith, we begin to understand more and more that “We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal” (1 Corinthians 4:18). What is within our heart as men and women of God is eternal and more real than the outward world around us. We have been called to be salt and light to our generation and it is from the eternal within that the temporal without is to be transformed. When we begin to doubt, we have taken our focus off the thing that is most real and cast our eyes instead upon the temporal world around us which will pass away. It seems more real to us because it is clearly visible. Yet if we look through the eyes of faith, even in the visible world we find evidence of “God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature.”
When I taught Sunday school in 1997 and ’98, I shared an account with the teens I culled from Jackie Humphries’s book All the Things You Aren’t . . . Yet . . .. I think it is particularly appropriate today as we prepare to venture forth into the remainder of our week, settling back into lives that are often entirely too busy—inwardly as much as outwardly:
There’s an old story that preachers like to tell about a man who dreamed he came to the great storehouse in which God keeps all the wonderful gifts He gives mankind. The man went up to the angel in charge and said, “All my life, I’ve seen so much suffering and misery. I’ve seen wars, pestilence, and disease, and greed, hate, and envy. Please give me some love and joy and peace.” The angel smiled and said, “I’m sorry, but we don’t stock fruit—only seeds.”
We have been called to walk by faith and not by sight and we have been promised that we will have every good thing we need provided and that in abundance (2 Corinthians 9:8). The question then becomes, do you choose to give voice to your doubt or to your faith? In the end, it is not a question of whether you have faith: it is a question of whether you will plant the mustard seed that you have already been given.
God bless,
Eric
“What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hath faith, and have not works? can faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit? Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone. Yea, a man may say, Thou hast faith, and I have works: shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works. Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble. But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead?”
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