The Greek word Pistis (Πίστις; πιστεύω), one of the key terms in Christian theology, is routinely translated as Faith, although the meaning of Pistis is both broader and epistemically weaker than the contemporary idea of Faith, that of ‘complete trust or conviction about something for which there is no proof’. In Greek mythology, Pistis was understood as the personification of good faith, trust and honesty, but the Christian tradition is now believed to have drawn on a more modern, discursive sense of the term: to be open to persuasion by reason (λόγος), without necessarily being committed to certainty about the suggested conclusion. The state of openness to persuasion without assuming certainty is still akin to showing ‘good faith’ with respect to someone else’s point of view, rendering Pistis a state of intellectual or perhaps spiritual openness to something beyond ourselves. I argue that the older definition of Pistis, understood as having good faith in relating to others and to the Spirit, is the most fitting English approximation of the intended meaning.

The Hebrew term for Faith – Emunah (אֱמוּנָה) – with linguistic connotations of faithfulness, loyalty and discerning trust, is regarded as an ‘active’ principle, akin to giving support to someone. Pistis, understood as good faith or openness to persuasion in a discourse, is evidently also active. A discourse necessarily involves a reciprocal commitment to exchange meaning, to be understood and to understand one another in good faith. This active aspect was extensively theorised by Jürgen Habermas and Karl-Otto Apel, in relation to the principle of Discourse Ethics. The central idea of Discourse Ethics is that when we speak or respond in a meaningful way to another we are affirming certain symmetry about meaning, whose value or truth-aptness consists solely in being rationally held in common, and thus commits us to recreate the same meaning in one another. According to Apel, by verbalising any claim we are implicitly recognising our interlocutor as a being capable of rationally responding to our claim and we are inviting them to do so: “The logical justification for our thought” therefore commits us to “understand arguments critically” and to “mutually recognize each other as participants with equal rights in the discussion.” (Selected Essays: Ethics and the Theory of Rationality. 1996, p29) This “consensual-communicative rationality [is] presupposed already in the use of language (and, therefore, in thought itself)…” (p210-211) It follows that communicating in good faith in order to accomplish reciprocal affinity of meaning – a communion of Logos – is a grounding principle of all meaning, of thought, and therefore of our meaningful existence. Our will to exist is then inseparable from the need for meaning, manifested in practice as inclination or ‘thirst’ for communion of Logos.

The proposed interpretation of Faith has an important, counterintuitive implication. A measure of doubt, in the sense of not being committed to the truth of something without careful consideration of reasons, may indeed be an essential part of having ‘good faith’, because without doubt we could not give fair consideration to the relevant subject matter. By denying the possibility of doubt we would implicitly deny the authority of reason as a normative principle, and therefore negate the possibility of meaning.

The idea of ‘good faith’ can be readily extended to Spirit, as openness to the communion of Spirit with God. This would in turn imply a degree of spiritual affinity with God, putting us within God or, if not open to communion of Spirit, outside of God. The sacrament of Communion seems to reflect this symbolism. Following the example of Discourse Ethics, the concept of Faith as simply openness to Spirit may not fully capture the Christian essence of the term. In addition to openness, a special inclination or thirst for spiritual communion may be required. There are indeed multiple instances in the canon suggesting that such an inclination is indeed required: “ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find” (Matthew 7:7, Luke 11:9); “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink” (John 7:37). “By this he meant the Spirit“, continues John.

In contrast to the above argument, the more common understanding of faith as an innate conviction or certainty about the meaning of some aspect of the scripture or of our religious experience, faces a major logical impasse. Absolute certainty about anything implies that the believer cannot possibly be mistaken in that respect, which in turn implies that the believer knows Everything that could affect the truth of the relevant subject of belief. Whoever cannot possibly be wrong is necessarily All Knowing and therefore God, but this renders the idea of Faith as absolute personal knowledge of some aspect of God both nonsensical and potentially blasphemous. Moreover, presumption of certainty (dogmatism) is contrary to ‘good faith’ both in relation to Logos and Spirit, as it precludes openness to that which is misunderstood, unknown, or unexperienced. If this part of my argument is incorrect, then the idea of Faith as ‘good faith’ in relation to Spirit, as openness and ‘thirst’ for spiritual communion, seems to have few plausible alternatives. Even the simple idea of Faith as fallible ‘trust’ (without claiming certainty about the object of trust) cannot be arbitrary but requires discernment based on reason, and reason itself requires good faith.

The practical consequence of taking Faith to mean ‘good faith in relation to Spirit’, instead of ‘certainty of belief about something for which there is no proof’, is that it complements rationality instead of being contrary to reason. As I have argued above, Faith understood in this way is also the Ethos of Logos, an essential aspect of Logos apart from which there can be no meaning, thought or meaningful existence. To abandon ‘good faith’ is to commit oneself to the void, to spiritual non-existence; apart from the unifying power of Logos, everything falls apart. For the same reason, if God’s nature were contrary to reason it would be empty of meaning, therefore impossible, therefore not God. A fitting name for such an incoherent facsimile of God is Evil. Spirit/Theos may be the foundation of Logos, its ground, but it cannot be separate or contrary to Logos. In order to be in communion with Spirit we must first be in communion with Logos; for this to be possible, good faith is necessary. This characterisation of Faith may seem unorthodox, but it was enthusiastically affirmed by Pope Benedict XVI in his famous Regensburg Lecture: “Not to act reasonably, not to act with Logos, is contrary to the nature of God [which is Logos].” This insight, or perhaps a rediscovery of the true meaning of Faith, may be one of the most important theological shifts in the evolution of the Church, reconciling Faith with Western rationalism and creating an opening for rational resolution of conflicts between religious denominations. “In the beginning there was Logos.”

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