Believing Differently

I can hear you asking, “You don’t believe all the stuff in the Bible is literally true, do you?” Twenty years ago, I would have launched into a defensive explanation of biblical inerrancy. Today, I can just smile and say, “It’s complicated, but my faith is stronger now that I’ve stopped trying to believe everything literally.” This journey from certainty through doubt to a deeper faith isn’t unique to me—it reflects a pattern many thoughtful believers experience. More importantly, this framework has been a lifeline during my desert time, when doubts threatened to destroy my faith. Theologian Paul Ricoeur articulated this path as three stages of theological understanding—precritical, critical, and post-critical—which scholar Leonards Jansons has developed into a practical framework for modern believers.

Stages of Faith

The precritical stage, which Ricoeur describes as naive realism, is marked by a literal interpretation of the Bible. At 16, I confidently highlighted verses in my study Bible, certain every word was directly from God’s mouth to my ears. In this stage, scripture is perceived as God’s word, an objective and factual account of reality. The supernatural is accepted unquestioningly, with little emphasis on metaphor or symbolic meaning. I remember how reassuring this certainty was—a world where every question had a neat answer. While not fundamentalism, this stage reflects a faith lived without interrogation.

The critical stage introduces a distance between religion, scripture, and lived experience. This began with a historical reality: the first 11 chapters of the Bible are borrowed from other Ancient Near Eastern religions. This small crack in my biblical certainty became a chasm. It employs a hermeneutic of suspicion, questioning religious claims and rejecting the literal interpretations of the precritical stage. This stage feels like driving in a fog, characterized by searching, doubt, and feeling lost. I’ve spent twenty years in this wilderness, clinging to church attendance by my fingernails, wondering if intellectual honesty would eventually force me to abandon my faith.

The post-critical stage, or second naivety, is where faith is restored yet transformed. I didn’t arrive here through a lightning bolt of certainty, but through a gradual realization. The Bible became more meaningful to me when I stopped demanding it to be something it wasn’t. For example, when I read the creation stories, I’m no longer anxious about reconciling them with evolutionary science. I’m free to appreciate their profound theological message about human dignity and our relationship with the earth. It acknowledges the insights of critical disciplines—such as historical criticism and textual analysis—while continuing on the path of faith. Ricoeur describes this stage as the restoration of myth as symbol. The resurrection narrative, for example, transformed from a historical claim I felt compelled to defend into a profound mystery that spoke to me of God’s power to bring life from death—in the historical Jesus and in my own experience of renewal. Beliefs that lose their status as knowledge can still become revelatory and transformative when received as symbols. This stage emphasizes the distinction between belief and faith, which has become central to my understanding.

Beliefs vs. Faith

According to Jansons, belief is the intellectual acceptance of certain events, beings, or states of affairs as objectively true. However, faith is an openness to the transcendent and mysterious reality of God, experienced as grace and encountered in Jesus Christ. This distinction saved my spiritual life. I realized I could release my grip on certain theological beliefs—young earth creationism, biblical inerrancy, exclusivist salvation—without losing my faith in God’s reality and love. This distinction is crucial: faith in God does not depend on holding specific beliefs as literal or objective truths. Instead, it embraces the mystery of symbols.

Symbols

Jansons defines symbols as “words or things that reveal and manifest something beyond themselves while participating in what they symbolize.” Consider communion: the bread and wine aren’t important as factual objects, but as physical elements that connect us to the transcendent reality of Christ’s presence. When I take communion now, I’m no longer concerned with how He is present—I simply experience the mystery of belonging to something larger than myself. They are not objective facts but function in the human imagination as spiritual tuning forks, uncovering unnoticed truths. Post-critical faith does not believe in symbols but believes through them.

This understanding of symbols aligns with the allegorical interpretations of scripture by figures like Origen and Jesus’ parables, which require interpretation to reveal hidden meanings. Post-critical theology can view Old Testament genocide accounts as human misrepresentations of the divine will, retained as cautionary tales rather than removed from the canon. This approach liberated me from the exhausting mental gymnastics of defending the indefensible parts of scripture. The Bible became not a perfect rulebook but a messy, human collection of writings that still reveal God. Similarly, it can accept that the historical Jesus might have been mistaken about the timing of his return while still affirming his role as God’s preeminent symbol.

WWW

Jansons summarizes post-critical theology using the acronym WWW:

1. Worldview: Faith as a symbolically mediated worldview, envisioning the world through scripture and creeds. When I read about “the kingdom of God,” I picture a way of being that challenges dominant power structures and uplifts the marginalized.
2. Way: Christianity engages the whole person through practices like reading scripture, communal worship, and reconciliation. My spiritual practices have been fundamentally transformed. Prayer became less about presenting God with a wish list and more about creating space for presence. Scripture reading shifted from mining for rules and proof-texts to entering a conversation that’s been happening for millennia. Even communion—once a burdensome obligation—became a profound weekly reminder that I belong to something larger, nourished by mystery I cannot fully comprehend.
3. Wager: A bet that a belief in the gospel will prove more fruitful for living in the world than the skeptical conclusions from a hermeneutic of suspicion. Living as if love is the foundation of reality produces more joy and purpose than skepticism.

My Journey

The hardest part of this journey wasn’t the intellectual questions—it was the relationships. When I could no longer affirm that non-Christians were destined for hell, some suggested I was “flirting with universalism” and questioned my commitment to truth. Some friends slowly disappeared from my life, uneasy with my evolving theology.

Others emerged. My wife and I found a church community of “faithful questioners”—people committed to Christ while open to doubt and exploration. We gather often, sharing conversations and experiences, creating space where questions are valued more than answers. This community has become my spiritual support.

This journey has been challenging. Transitioning from belief to faith can be frightening, lonely, and isolating. Doubt and uncertainty are uncomfortable companions, and the absence of certitude can feel destabilizing. I envy those with unshakeable certainty. Yet I’ve found something more valuable: a faith that doesn’t require me to compartmentalize my intellect from my spirituality. I’ve found solace in the writings of Rob Bell, Rachel Held Evans, and Richard Beck, who navigated similar paths and shared their insights.

Symbols have shaped my faith. The church, marriage, and practices like prayer and meditation have influenced my understanding. The church as a symbol has been complex—both a source of wounding and healing. I have had to reinterpret “church,” seeing it less as an institution and more as a community of fellow travelers. Prayer has transformed from petition to presence, and scripture from instruction manual to sacred conversation. Reclaiming and reinterpreting these symbols has been essential to my journey.

The distinction between belief and faith has affected my relationships. Defining and articulating this difference has been a healthy spiritual practice, allowing me to release rigid beliefs and embrace faith’s mystery. It has given me a new language for my conservative family: “I understand and respect your belief. My faith leads me to a different understanding, but we’re both seeking to follow Jesus.” This approach has de-escalated conflicts. Sharing this journey with friends and family has deepened connections and fostered understanding.

If you’re in the critical stage—questioning, doubting, feeling lost—know you’re not alone, and this isn’t the end of faith but its beginning. Post-critical faith isn’t about abandoning truth but discovering a deeper truth beyond literalism. It’s about finding God not in certainty but in mystery, not in answers but in questions.

Poet Rainer Maria Rilke advised, “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves.” This is the essence of post-critical faith—appreciating the questions and discovering that God can contain both our certainties and doubts.