faith and hope essay

• Yale Divinity School

Reflections

You are here, theologies of hope.

This article is a shortened adaptation of a two-part “For the Life of the World” podcast on the theme of hope that YDS Professor Miroslav Volf posted in summer 2020, produced by the Yale Center for Faith & Culture. You can listen here to podcast Part 1 and Part 2 .

Fear, more than hope, is characteristic of our time. In the late 1960s, we were optimistic about the century’s hopes for the triumph of justice and something like universal peace, but that has given way to increasing pessimism. “No future” scenarios have become plausible to us. As I write in summer 2020, the coronavirus pandemic gives the dominant shape to our anxieties. But even before the pandemic, we feared more than we hoped. We feared and continue to fear falling behind as the gap widens between the ultra-rich and the rest who are condemned to run frantically just to stay in the same place yet often cannot prevent falling behind. We fear the collapse of the ecosystem straining under the burden of our ambitions, the revenge of nature for violence we perpetrate against it. We fear loss of cultural identities as the globe shrinks, and people, driven by war, ecological devastation, and deprivation, migrate to where they can survive and thrive.

Politically, the consequence is the rise of identity politics and nationalism, both driven largely by fear. Culturally, the consequences are dystopian movies and literature, and the popularity of pessimistic philosophies. In religious thought and imagination, too, apocalyptic moods are again in vogue. Hope seems impossible; fear feels overwhelming.

A Thing With Feathers

The Apostle Paul has penned some of the most famous lines about hope ever written: “For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience” (Romans 8:24-25). Hope is a strange thing – as Emily Dickinson declares in her famous poem , it’s a “thing with feathers” perched in our soul, ready to take us on its wings to some future good. In fact, hope is a thing that has already taken us to that good with the tune that it sings. In hope – or perhaps by hope – “we were saved,” writes Apostle Paul. In hope, a future good which isn’t yet, somehow already is. A future good we cannot see, which waits in darkness, still qualifies our entire existence. We might be suffering or experiencing “hardship … distress … persecution … famine … nakedness … peril … sword … we are being killed all day long” (Romans 8:18, 35-36), and yet we have been saved and we are saved.

Interpreting the phrase “in hope we are saved,” Martin Luther suggested in his Lectures on Romans that just as love transforms the lover into the beloved, so “hope changes the one who hopes into what is hoped for.” [1]   Thus, a key feature of hope is that it stretches a person into the unknown, the hidden, the darkness of unknown possibility. For Paul this can happen because God is with us – God who gives life to the dead and calls into existence things that do not exist.

Hope vs. Optimism vs. Expectation

When I hope, I expect something in the future. I cannot hope for my 18-year-old son to know how to ride a bike, because he knows that already. But I can hope for him to do well in college, for that’s where he is headed in the fall. Without expectation for the future, there can be no hope. But we don’t hope for everything we can expect in the future. We generally don’t hope for natural occurrences, such as a new day that dawns after a dark and restful night; I know , more or less, that the next day will come. But I may hope for cool breezes to freshen up a hot summer day. We reserve the term “hope” for the expectation of things that we cannot fully control or predict with a high degree of certainty. The way we generally use the word, “hope” can be roughly defined as the expectation of good things that don’t come to us as a matter of course . That’s the distinction between hope and expectation.

The God who creates out of nothing, the God who makes the dead alive, justifies hope that is otherwise unjustifiable.

In his justly famous book Theology of Hope (1964), Jürgen Moltmann, one of the greatest theologians of the second part of the 20th century, made another important distinction, that between hope and optimism. [2] The source of the distinction relates to the specific way some ancient biblical writers understand hope. Optimism, if it is justified, is based on extrapolations we make about the future based upon what we can reasonably discern to be tendencies in the present. Meteorologists observe weather patterns around the globe and release their forecasts for the next day: the day will be unseasonably warm, but in the early afternoon winds will pick up and bring some relief; now you have reason to be optimistic that the afternoon will be pleasant, perhaps you even look forward to sailing your little 12-foot sloop on three-foot swells. Or, to take another scenario, you and your spouse are healthy adults of childbearing age, you have had no trouble conceiving, and the obstetrician tells you that your pregnancy is going well; you have reason to be optimistic that you will give birth to a healthy child. The present contains the seeds of the future, and if it is well with these seeds, the future that will grow will be good as well. That’s reasonable optimism.

Hope, argued Moltmann, is different. Hope is not based on accurate extrapolation about the future from the character of the present; the hoped-for future is not born out of the present. The future good that is the object of hope is a new thing, novum , that comes in part from outside the situation. Correspondingly, hope is, in Emily Dickinson’s felicitous phrase, like a bird that flies in from outside and “perches in the soul.” Optimism in dire situations reveals an inability to understand what is going on or an unwillingness to accept it and is therefore an indication of foolishness or weakness. In contrast, hope during dire situations, hope notwithstanding the circumstances, is a sign of courage and strength.

What is the use of hope not based on evidence or reason, you may wonder? Think of the alternative. What happens when we identify hope with reasonable expectation? Facing the shocking collapse of what we had expected with good reasons, we will slump into hopelessness at the time when we need hope the most! Hope helps us identify signs of hope as signs of hope rather than just anomalies in an otherwise irreparable situation, as indicators of a new dawn rather than the last flickers of a dying light. Hope also helps us to press on with determination and courage. When every course of action by which we could reach the desired future seems destined to failure, when we cannot reasonably draw a line that would connect the terror of the present with future joy, hope remains indomitable and indestructible. When we hope, we always hope against reasonable expectations. That’s why Emily Dickinson’s bird of hope “never stops” singing – in the sore storm, in the chilliest land, on the strangest sea.

Hope Needs Endurance, Endurance Needs Hope

We are most in need of hope under an affliction and menace we cannot control, yet it is in those situations that it is most difficult for us to hold onto hope and not give ourselves over to darkness as our final state. That is where patience and endurance come in. In the same letter to the Romans, in the same passage that celebrates hope and its transformative darkness, Paul writes: “If we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience” (Romans 8:25). “Patience” is here the translation of hypomone , which is better rendered as endurance, or perhaps “patient endurance.” 

Neither patience nor endurance are popular emotions or skills. Our lives are caught in a whirlwind of accelerated changes; we have little endurance for endurance, no patience with patience. Technological advances promise to give us lives of ease; having to endure anything strikes us as a defeat. And yet, when a crisis hits, we need endurance as much as we need hope. Or, more precisely, we need genuine hope, which, to the extent that it is genuine, is marked by endurance.

When the great Apostle says in Romans 8:25 that if we hope, we wait with endurance, he implies that hope generates endurance: because we hope we can endure present suffering. That was his point in the opening statement of the section on suffering in Romans 8:18: “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.” The hope of future glory makes present suffering bearable. But, in Romans 5:3-5, he inverts the relation between hope and endurance. There he writes, “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” Now endurance helps generate hope. Putting the two texts together, Romans 8 and Romans 5, we can say: hope needs endurance and endurance needs hope; genuine endurance is marked by hope; and genuine hope is marked by endurance.

The God of Promises

More than half a century after his Theology of Hope , Jürgen Moltmann has written an essay, On Patience (2018), about two aspects of patience we find in the biblical traditions: forbearance and endurance. Writing as a 92-year-old, he begins the second paragraph of this essay on patience autobiographically:

In my youth, I learned to know “the God of hope” and loved the beginnings of a new life with new ideas. But in my old age I am learning to know “the God of patience” and stay in my place in life . [3]

Youth and old age, Moltmann goes on to say, are not about chronology, but about experiences in life and stances toward life. Hope and patience belong both to youth and to old age; they complement each other. He continues:

Without endurance, hope turns superficial and evaporates when it meets first resistances. In hope we start something new, but only endurance helps us persevere. Only tenacious endurance makes hope sustainable. We learn endurance only with the help of hope. On the other hand, when hope gets lost, endurance turns into passivity. Hope turns endurance into active passivity. In hope we affirm the pain that comes with endurance, and learn to tolerate it. [4]

Hope and endurance – neither can be truly itself without the other. And for the Apostle Paul, both our hope and our ability to endure – our enduring hope – are rooted in the character of God. Toward the end of Romans, he highlights both “the God of endurance” (or steadfastness) and “the God of hope” (Romans 15:5, 13). Those who believe in that God – the God who is the hope of Israel, the God who is the hope of Gentiles and the hope of the whole earth – are able to be steadfast and endure fear-inducing situations they cannot change and in which no good future seems to be in sight. But more than just endure. Paul, the persecuted apostle who experienced himself as “always carrying in the body the death of Jesus,” was hoping for more than just endurance from the God of hope. Toward the very end of his letter to the Christians in Rome – in the second of what looks like four endings of the letter – he writes: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13). In the midst of affliction, the God of hope opens us up for the possibility of joy and comprehensive well-being.

Our salvation lies in hope, but not in hope that insists on the future good it has imagined, but in hope ready to rejoice in the kind of good that actually comes our way. The God who creates out of nothing, the God who makes dead alive – the God of the original beginning of all things and the God of new beginnings – justifies hope that is otherwise unjustifiable. When that God makes a promise, we can hope.

Miroslav Volf is Henry B. Wright Professor of Theology at YDS and founding director of the Yale Center for Faith & Culture. He is the author of A Public Faith: How Followers of Christ Should Serve the Common Good (Brazos, 2011) and other books.

[1] Martin Luther, Lectures on Romans , edited by Hilton C. Oswald, volume 25 of Luther’s Works , edited by Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut Lehmann (Concordia Publishing House, 1972), p. 364.

[2] Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope: On the Ground and the Implications of a Christian Eschatology , translated by Margaret Kohl (HarperSanFrancisco, 1991).

[3] Jürgen Moltmann, Über Geduld, Barmherzigkeit und Solidarität (Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2018), p. 13, my translation.

[4] Moltmann, pp. 13-14.

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Hope vs faith: the differences and interrelation.

The question of faith versus hope has played a significant role in human philosophy throughout history. These concepts have been explored by philosophers, theologians, and thinkers since ancient times. The distinction between hope and faith can be traced back to ancient Greek philosophy, where hope (elpis) was considered a driving force behind human actions, and faith (pistis) was seen as a virtue related to trust and belief. In Christian theology, this distinction became more pronounced, with hope and faith being identified as two of the three theological virtues, alongside charity. No wonder even to these days, humanity is still wondering and contemplating not only the differnce of hope vs faith but also the meaning of the two notions and their place in the grand scheme of life.

Defining Hope and Faith

Hope is an emotion that looks forward to the future with a sense of desire and expectation for something positive to happen. It’s like looking at a cloudy sky and believing that the sun will eventually shine through.

This optimistic mindset is based on the belief that good things are on the horizon, even if they’re not visible yet. Hope is also a mental process that helps people set goals, plan how to achieve them, and stay motivated along the way. It’s like a mental safety net that catches you when life throws challenges your way, helping you bounce back and keep moving forward. Philosophers like Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas have discussed hope, with Aquinas defining it as “a movement or stretching forth of the appetite towards an arduous good that is difficult but possible to attain.”

Faith, on the other hand, is a bit more complex. It’s like a sturdy bridge built on trust, belief, and confidence. In a religious sense, faith is the strong belief in a higher power or the teachings of a particular religion.

It’s not just about hoping for a better future; it’s about trusting and committing to something or someone with your whole heart. Faith is like an anchor in a stormy sea, providing stability and strength. It’s a deep, unwavering conviction that goes beyond just hoping for the best; it’s believing in it, even when it’s not yet seen. Philosophers such as Søren Kierkegaard have explored faith extensively, with Kierkegaard defining it as “a passion, a paradoxical passion that requires one to believe by virtue of the absurd.”

Hope vs Faith: Exploring the Differences

While hope and faith are closely connected, they each have their unique characteristics. Hope is like a light at the end of a tunnel, a feeling that something specific you wish for will happen. For example, you might hope to do well on an upcoming exam or hope that it’ll be sunny for your weekend picnic. This kind of hope often depends on things outside of your control, like the weather or how hard the exam questions are.

Faith, on the other hand, goes deeper than just wanting a certain outcome. It’s like a strong, unshakeable belief in something bigger than yourself, such as a higher power, the goodness of humanity, or the strength of love. Faith doesn’t rely on specific events or results. Instead, it’s a steady trust that, no matter what happens, things will work out in the end. For example, you might have faith in your ability to overcome challenges, even if you’re not sure what those challenges will be or how you’ll tackle them.

While hope focuses on specific desires and is influenced by outside factors, faith is a more profound, unwavering belief that doesn’t depend on specific outcomes. It’s like comparing a single candle (hope) that can flicker and go out with a sturdy lighthouse (faith) that stands firm and guides the way, no matter how stormy the seas get. Here is a table that summarizes some of the key differences between hope and faith:

The Interrelation between Hope and Faith

Imagine hope and faith as two strands of a strong rope, intertwined and essential to each other’s strength. While they are distinct concepts, they share a deep connection that adds depth and resilience to human experience.

Hope can be seen as a component of faith, as faith often encompasses hope for future grace and blessings. It’s the optimistic anticipation that something good will happen, like the first rays of sunlight after a long night. Faith, on the other hand, is the steady flame that keeps hope alive, even when the night seems endless. It’s a profound trust in something greater, a conviction that there is a guiding force or purpose behind everything.

In the Christian tradition, this interplay is beautifully illustrated. Biblical faith is not just a belief in God; it’s also a confident hope in His promises. This hope is not baseless optimism but is rooted in the trustworthiness of God’s character. It’s like a child who trusts that their parent will keep a promise, not because they see the proof, but because they know their parent’s love and reliability.

But what about hope without faith? It’s possible, of course. People can hope for a promotion, a successful event, or a sunny day without any religious or spiritual beliefs. However, this kind of hope might be more fragile, easily shaken by life’s ups and downs. Without the anchor of faith, hope can drift away with the tides of circumstance. Conversely, faith without hope would feel incomplete. Faith is not just about believing in something; it’s also about looking forward to the future with a sense of trust and expectation. Without hope, faith might become stagnant, like a tree that never blossoms.

John Piper, a renowned theologian, captures this interrelation beautifully. He talks about a “saving faith” that cherishes not only the grace we’ve received in the past and present but also the grace that awaits us in the future. This forward-looking aspect of faith infuses believers with a lasting joy and a solid hope that can withstand life’s storms.

In essence, hope and faith are like two wings of a bird, each vital for the other to soar. Hope lifts us up with its promise of a brighter future, while faith gives us the strength to keep flying, even through the darkest nights. Together, they form a powerful force that can carry us through life’s journey with grace and resilience.

Hope and faith are two intertwined concepts that play a crucial role in human experience. While they have distinct characteristics, their interrelation is evident in the way hope is embedded in faith, especially in religious contexts. Understanding the differences and connections between hope and faith can provide insights into the nature of human belief, motivation, and resilience. As we navigate the complexities of life, both hope and faith serve as vital sources of strength and guidance, helping us to face the future with confidence and trust.

Can you have hope without faith?

Yes, you can have hope without faith. Hope is a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen, which can exist independently of faith. For example, you might hope to win a game or hope for good weather without necessarily having faith in a higher power or a specific belief system.

How does hope differ from faith in religious contexts?

In religious contexts, hope is often tied to faith, but they are not the same. Hope is the expectation of good things to come, often based on the promises of a religious text or teachings. Faith, on the other hand, is a deeper, more profound belief and trust in a higher power or the tenets of a religion. While hope looks forward to future blessings, faith is the foundation that gives hope its strength and certainty.

Are hope and faith interchangeable in everyday language?

In everyday language, hope and faith are often used interchangeably, but they have distinct meanings. Hope is generally used to express a desire for something to happen, while faith implies a stronger, more confident belief, often with a religious or spiritual connotation. For example, you might say, “I hope it doesn’t rain,” but “I have faith that everything will work out.”

Can hope and faith coexist?

Yes, hope and faith can coexist and often complement each other. Hope can be seen as a component of faith, as faith often encompasses hope for future blessings. Faith can also strengthen hope by providing a foundation of trust and belief. Together, hope and faith can provide a powerful source of motivation and resilience.

How do hope and faith affect mental health?

Hope and faith can have positive effects on mental health. Hope can provide motivation and a sense of purpose, helping individuals to cope with challenges and setbacks. Faith can offer comfort, support, and a sense of community, which can be beneficial for mental well-being. Both hope and faith can contribute to a more optimistic outlook and a greater sense of overall well-being.

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A National Journal of Literature & Discussion

On Faith and Hope

By gregory mcnamee , illustrations by lauren simkin berke.

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” wrote Emily Dickinson, “that perches in the soul.” The avian image is both lovely and apposite, for as a bird goes winging off at the first loud noise or sight of a predator, so hope—an aspect of desire, a wish that something, and usually something good, will happen—typically flies out the window as often as it lands on one’s shoulder. If something isn’t outright impossible, it’s possible to hope for it, though the likelihood of its happening lessens the closer to impossible it comes: living to one hundred, let’s say, following a life of three packs of smokes and a porterhouse every day.

The thing with feathers, if you are of a religious bent, is really faith, the cast of mind that allows us to accept the notion that winged angels inhabit the heavens—and, Wim Wenders tells us in his film Wings of Desire , libraries. Faith differs from hope in several respects, although both reside in the same semantic domain. One important difference is that faith hinges on belief: the belief that whether something can be detected and measured or not, it exists, such as an eternal afterlife overseen by an omniscient deity; the belief that some inherent wisdom drives American voters to do the right thing always. A grade-school student, asked to define the term by the pioneering psychologist William James, put it this way: “Faith is when you believe something that you know ain’t true.”

Faith turns not only on belief but also on certainty. I hope, as millions of people do, that I’ll win the Powerball pick. There’s nothing certain about that, just a fond thought. Were I to say that I have faith that I will win the Powerball, I would commit a grammatically permissible but essentially nonsensical utterance, unless, that is, I had a fix in with the lottery commissioner and knew without doubt that all that dough was coming my way. The point of that certainty is perhaps nowhere more clearly made than in the witticism attributed to Samuel Johnson that marrying anew after a divorce represents the triumph of hope over experience, whereas—and no offense to believers—the belief in an eternal life in climate-controlled splendor better illustrates the triumph of faith over what we know to be verifiably true by observation.

With certainty comes trust, the root meaning of the Latin fidere , which gives us a rare nonreligious use of the word faith, namely that found in the “full faith and credit” clause of the Constitution: “Full Faith and Credit shall be given in each State to the public Acts, Records, and judicial Proceedings of every other State.” In this secular sense, that faith is not always certain: some states have, after all, allowed legal slavery, while same-sex marriage and interracial unions have met resistance across state lines.

In Christian theology, to faith and hope is appended love. Says Saint Paul, “the greatest of these is love.” Or, to quote the eminent philosopher Jerry Garcia, “Love isn’t all you need—but it’s most of it.” Add on hope, and even faith, and it’s more of it still. 

Gregory McNamee

Gregory McNamee is the author or title-page editor of forty books. He is a contributing editor to the Encyclopaedia Britannica and to Kirkus Reviews.

Lauren Simkin Berke

Lauren Simkin Berke is a Brooklyn-based artist and illustrator who occasionally publishes art books and zines under the name Captain Sears Press. Working primarily in ink on paper, they draw for clients such as the New York Times , the Paris Review , Smithsonian , Simon & Schuster , and Schwartz & Wade Books . 

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Questions about faith have inspired centuries of philosophical and theological reflection, particularly, though by no means exclusively, as faith is understood within the Christian branch of the Abrahamic religions. What is faith? What makes faith reasonable or unreasonable, valuable or disvaluable, morally permissible or impermissible, virtuous or vicious? How does faith relate to psychological states such as belief, desire, trust, and hope? How does faith relate to action? To what extent is faith under our voluntary control? Because answers to these further questions depend on what faith is, as well as on assumptions about relevant evaluative norms and the philosophical psychology and theory of action applicable to faith, this entry focusses on the nature of faith, while also touching upon implications of various models of faith for assessments of its reasonableness and value.

‘Faith’ is a broad term, appearing in locutions that point to a range of different phenomena. We speak of ‘having faith that you will succeed, despite setbacks,’ ‘having faith in democracy,’ ‘putting faith in God,’ ‘believing that God exists by faith,’ ‘being a person of faith,’ ‘professing and keeping the faith (or losing it),’ ‘keeping (or failing to keep) faith with someone’, and so on. At its most general ‘faith’ means much the same as ‘trust’. Uses of ‘faith’ and ‘faithfulness’ closely parallel ‘trust’ and ‘trustworthiness’ and these are often used interchangeably. Yet one of the striking and intriguing facts about theorizing in this area (the study of faith, faithfulness, and related phenomena), is that people have offered radically different accounts of what faith is—to such an extent that there remains disagreement even about the basic ontological category to which faith belongs. Is it a psychological state and, if so, is it cognitive, affective/evaluative, or perhaps some combination of both? Is it an act or disposition to act—or is there at least some sort of connection to action essential to faith and, if so, to what sorts of acts?

This entry will focus on religious faith as paradigmatic—or, rather, it will focus on the kind of faith exemplified in theistic faith (i.e., faith in God, faith that God exists, and commitment to a theistic interpretation of reality), while leaving open whether faith of that same general kind also belongs to other, non-theistic, religious contexts, or to contexts not usually thought of as religious at all. The question of faith outside of a theistic context, such as whether it is apt to speak of the faith of a humanist, or even an atheist, using the same general sense of ‘faith’ as applies to the theist case, is taken up in the final Section (11).

Philosophical reflection on theistic religious faith has produced markedly different accounts or models of its nature. This entry organizes discussion of accounts or models of faith around key components that feature in such accounts—with varying emphases, and with varying views about how these components relate to one another. These components are the cognitive , the affective , the evaluative , and the practical (volitional, actional and behavioural). Models of faith may also be usefully categorized according to further principles, including

• how the model relates faith as a state to the actional components associated with faith;
• whether the model takes the object of faith to be exclusively propositional (e.g., faith that such and such) or not (e.g., faith in persons or ideals);
• the type of epistemology with which the model is associated—whether it is broadly ‘internalist’ or ‘externalist’, ‘evidentialist’ or ‘fideist’;
• whether the model is necessarily restricted to theistic religious faith, or may extend beyond it.

The entry proceeds dialectically, with later sections presupposing the earlier discussion. The section headings are as follows:

1. Models of faith and their key components

2. the affective component of faith, 3. faith as knowledge, 4. faith and reason: the epistemology of faith, 5. faith as belief, 6. faith as an act of trust, 7. faith as doxastic venture, 8. venturing faith, without belief, 9. faith and hope, 10. faith as a virtue, 11. faith beyond (orthodox) theism, other internet resources, related entries.

While philosophical reflection on faith of the kind exemplified in religious contexts might ideally hope to yield an agreed definition in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions that articulate the nature of faith, the present discussion proceeds by identifying key components that recur in different accounts of religious faith. It also aims to identify a focal range of issues on which different stances are taken by different accounts. There is a plurality of existing philosophical understandings or models of faith of the religious kind. This discussion therefore aims to set out dialectically an organisation of this plurality, while also giving indications of the reasons there may be for preferring particular models over others. Since ‘religion’ itself may well be a ‘family resemblance’ universal, essentialism about faith of the religious kind might be misplaced. Nevertheless, the concept of faith as found in the Abrahamic, theist, religious traditions is widely regarded as unified enough for an inquiry into its nature to make sense, even if a successful real definition is too much to expect (this kind of faith might conceivably be a conceptual primitive, for example).

Note that some philosophers approach the target of religious faith by first classifying and analysing ordinary language uses of the term ‘faith’ and locutions in which that term occurs. See, for recent examples, Audi 2011 (Chapter 3, Section I), who identifies seven different kinds of faith, and Howard-Snyder (2013b), who attempts a general analysis of ‘propositional’ faith—i.e., faith that p is true, where p is a relevant proposition. The present discussion, however, deals directly with the target notion of the kind of faith exemplified in religious faith , assuming the background of a working grasp of the notion as deployed in religious forms of life, and specifically in those belonging to the theist traditions. Insights from the analysis of faith understood more broadly may, nevertheless, be important in constructing models of faith of the religious kind, as will emerge below in the discussion of religious faith as a kind of trust (Section 6).

The notion of religious faith as the possession of a whole people is familiar, and arguably theologically primary in the theist traditions. Philosophical accounts of theistic faith typically focus, however, on what it is for an individual person to ‘have faith’ or be ‘a person of faith’. An initial broad distinction is between thinking of faith just as a person’s state when that person ‘has faith’, and thinking of it as also involving a person’s act, action or activity . Faith may be a state one is in, or comes to be in; it may also essentially involve something one does. An adequate account of faith, perhaps, needs to encompass both. In the Christian context, faith is understood both as a gift of God and also as requiring a human response of assent and trust, so that their faith is something with respect to which people are both receptive and active.

There is, however, some tension in understanding faith both as a gift to be received and as essentially involving a venture to be willed and enacted. A philosophical account of faith may be expected to illuminate this apparent paradox. One principle for classifying models of faith is according to the extent to which they recognise an active component in faith itself, and the way they identify that active component and its relation to faith’s other components. It is helpful to consider the components of faith (variously recognised and emphasised in different models of faith) as falling into three broad categories: the affective , the cognitive and the practical . There are also evaluative components in faith—these may appear as implicated in the affective and/or the cognitive components, according to one’s preferred meta-theory of value.

One component of faith is a certain kind of affective psychological state—namely, having a feeling of assurance or trust. Some philosophers hold that faith is to be identified simply with such a state: see, for example, Clegg (1979, 229) who suggests that this may have been Wittgenstein’s understanding. Faith in this sense—as one’s overall ‘default’ affective attitude on life—provides a valuable foundation for flourishing: its loss is recognised as the psychic calamity of ‘losing one’s faith’. But if foundational existential assurance is to feature in a model of faith of the kind exemplified by theists, more needs to be added about the kind of assurance involved. The assurance of theistic faith is essentially a kind of confidence: it is essentially faith in God. In general, faith of the kind exemplified by theistic faith must have some intentional object . It may thus be argued that an adequate model of this kind of faith cannot reduce to something purely affective: some broadly cognitive component is also required. (For an account that takes faith to be fundamentally affective, while allowing that it might also involve cognitive aspects, see Kvanvig 2013.)

What kind of cognitive component belongs to faith, then? One possibility is that it is a kind of knowledge , but there is then a question about the kind of knowledge that it is: e.g., is it knowledge ‘by acquaintance’, or ‘propositional’ knowledge ‘by description’, or both? One type of model of faith as knowledge identifies faith as propositional knowledge of specific truths, revealed by God. A model of this type has received prominent recent defence in the work of Alvin Plantinga, who proposes an account which he regards as following in the tradition of the reformers, principally John Calvin (see Plantinga 2000, 168–86). Calvin defines faith thus: ‘a firm and certain knowledge of God’s benevolence towards us, founded upon the truth of the freely given promise in Christ, both revealed to our minds and sealed upon our hearts through the Holy Spirit’ (John Calvin, Institutes III, ii, 7, 551, quoted by Plantinga (2000, 244)).

Appeal to a special cognitive faculty

‘Reformed’ epistemologists have appealed to an externalist epistemology in order to maintain that theistic belief may be justified even though its truth is no more than basically evident to the believer—that is, its truth is not rationally inferable from other, more basic, beliefs, but is found to be immediately evident in the believer’s experience (see Plantinga and Wolterstorff 1983, Alston 1991, Plantinga 2000). On Plantinga’s version, (basic) theistic beliefs count as knowledge because they are produced by the operation of a special cognitive faculty whose functional design fits it for the purpose of generating true beliefs about God. Plantinga calls this the sensus divinitatis , using a term of Calvin’s. (For discussion of the extent to which Plantinga’s use of this term conforms to Calvin’s own usage see Jeffreys 1997 and Helm 1998.) This quasi-perceptual faculty meets functional criteria as a mechanism that, when functioning in the right conditions, confers ‘warrant’ (where warrant is whatever must be added to true belief to yield knowledge) and, granted theism’s truth, it probably yields ‘basic’ knowledge because God designs it just for that purpose. In defence of specifically Christian belief, Plantinga argues that the same warrant-conferring status belongs to the operation of the Holy Spirit in making the great truths of the Gospel directly known to the believer.

The welcome certainty of faith

This appeal to a God-given ‘higher’ cognitive faculty is found (in the early 12th Century) in al-Ghazâlî’s Deliverance from Error , where it provides the key to the ‘Sufi’ resolution of his religious crisis and his sceptical doubts about the deliverances of sense perception and unassisted human reason. Faith is thus understood as a kind of basic knowledge attended by a certainty that excludes doubt. But faith will not be exclusively cognitive, if, as in Calvin’s definition, faith-knowledge is not only ‘revealed to our minds’ but also ‘sealed upon our hearts’. For, on this model, faith will also have an affective/evaluative component that includes a welcoming of the knowledge received.

Practical aspects of faith on this model

This model of faith as a kind of knowledge, certain and welcome, exhibits faith as essentially something to be received, something delivered by the proper functioning of a special cognitive faculty. Nevertheless, the model may admit a practical component, since an active response is required for reception of the divine gift. Such a practical component is implied by the real possibility that faith may be resisted: indeed, Christians may hold that in our sinful state we will inevitably offer a resistance to faith that may be overcome only by God’s grace. It is, however, a further step for persons of faith to put their revealed knowledge into practice by trusting their lives to God and seeking to obey his will. On this ‘special knowledge’ model of faith, however, this activity counts as ‘acting out’ one’s faith rather than as a part of faith itself. Persons of faith thus act ‘in’, ‘through’ or ‘by’ faith: but, on this model, their faith itself is the welcomed revealed knowledge on which they act.

Models of faith as knowledge may be thought lacking because they admit no actional component in faith itself. Faith seems essentially to involve some kind of active venture in commitment and trust, even if talk of a ‘leap of faith’ may not be wholly apt. Many have held that faith ventures beyond what is ordinarily known or justifiably held true, in the sense that faith involves accepting what cannot be established as true through the proper exercise of our naturally endowed human cognitive faculties. As Kant famously reports, in the Preface to the Second Edition of his Critique of Pure Reason : ‘I have … found it necessary to deny knowledge , in order to make room for faith ’ (Kant 1787 [1933, 29]). Theist philosophers do, however, typically defend the claim that faith is not ‘contrary to reason’. On models of faith that take a cognitive component as central, and construe faith’s object as propositional, reasonable faith therefore seems subject to a general evidentialist principle—‘a wise man ... proportions his belief to the evidence’, as Hume puts it (Hume 1748 [2007], “Of Miracles”, 80). And W. K. Clifford elevates evidentialism to the status of an absolute moral requirement, affirming that ‘it is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone to believe anything upon insufficient evidence’ (Clifford 1877 [1999, 77]. Faith’s venturesomeness may thus seem in tension with its reasonableness, and models of faith differ in the way they negotiate this tension in response to evidentialist challenges. Another way to classify models of faith, then, is in terms of their associated epistemology—and, in particular, whether and according to what norms of ‘evidential support’, they accept that faith’s cognitive component needs to meet a requirement to be grounded on available evidence.

The Reformed epistemologist model of faith as ‘basic’ knowledge (outlined in Section 3) generates an epistemology under which, although ordinary cognitive faculties and sources of evidence do not yield firm and certain inferred knowledge of theistic truths, there is (if Christian theism is true) a ‘higher’ cognitive faculty that neatly makes up the deficit. This model seems thus to secure the rationality of faith: if faith consists in beliefs that have the status of knowledge, faith can hardly fail to be rational. And, once the deliverances of the special cognitive faculty are included amongst the believer’s basic experiential evidence, an evidential requirement on reasonable belief seems to be met. (Note that Plantinga originally expressed his defence of ‘properly basic’ theistic belief in terms of the rationality of believing in God ‘without any evidence or argument at all’ (Plantinga 1983, 17). He does respect an evidential requirement, however, holding that it may be fully met through what is basically, non-inferentially, evident in the believer’s experience. Hence Plantinga’s insistence that his Reformed epistemology is not fideistic (Plantinga 2000, 263).)

Reflective faith and the question of entitlement

It is not clear, however, whether Reformed epistemology’s model of faith can achieve all that is needed to show that theist faith is reasonable. From the perspective of reflective persons of faith (or would-be faith), the question of entitlement arises: are they rationally, epistemically—even, morally—entitled to adopt or continue in their faith? This question will be existentially important, since faith will not be of the kind exemplified by religious faith unless its commitments make a significant difference to how one lives one’s life. Reflective believers, who are aware of the many options for faith and the possibility of misguided and even harmful faith-commitments, will wish to be satisfied that they are justified in their faith. The theist traditions hold a deep fear of idolatry—of giving one’s ‘ultimate concern’ (Tillich 1957 [2001]) to an object unworthy of it. The desire to be assured of entitlement to faith is thus not merely externally imposed by commitment to philosophical critical values: it is a demand internal to the integrity of theistic faith itself. Arguably, believers must even take seriously the possibility that the God they have been worshipping is not, after all, the true God (Johnston 2009). But, for this concern to be met, there will need to be conditions sufficient for justified faith that are ‘internalist’—that is, conditions whose obtaining is, at least indirectly if not directly, accessible to believers themselves. And, as already noted, those conditions are widely assumed to include an evidentialist requirement that faith is justified only if the truth of its cognitive content is adequately supported by the available evidence.

The Reformed epistemologist model as leaving the question of entitlement unanswered

It may be argued, however, that, if the Reformed epistemologist’s model is correct, those who seek to meet an evidentialist requirement will be unable to satisfy themselves of their entitlement to their faith. Theistic truths may be directly revealed, and experienced as immediately evident, yet, on reflection, one may doubt whether such experiences are genuinely revelatory since competing ‘naturalist’ interpretations of those experiences seem available. Furthermore, there are rival sources yielding contrary claims that equally claim to be authentically revelatory. It may be true, as Plantinga’s Reformed epistemology maintains, that if God exists then certain basic theist beliefs meet externalist criteria for knowledge, even though the truth of the propositions concerned remains open to reflective ‘internalist’ doubt. On an externalist account, that is, one might lack independent evidence sufficient to confirm that one has knowledge that God exists while in fact possessing that very knowledge . One may thus refute an objector who claims that without adequate evidence one cannot possess knowledge. But this consideration is still insufficient to secure entitlement to theistic faith—if, as may be argued, that entitlement requires that one has evidence adequate to justify commitment to the truth that God exists. For, one has such evidence only conditionally on God’s existence —but it is precisely entitlement to believe that God exists that is at issue (Kenny 1992, 71; Bishop and Aijaz 2004). For a wider discussion of the possibility of religious knowledge that, inter alia , endorses the present point, see Zagzebski 2010.

If faith is not ‘firm and certain’ basic knowledge of theistic truths, then a model of faith as having a propositional object may still be retained by identifying faith with belief of relevant content—and the question whether a faith-belief may have sufficient justification to count (if true) as (non-basic) knowledge may remain open. To have theist faith might thus be identified with holding a belief with theological content—that God exists, is benevolent towards us, has a plan of salvation, etc.—where this belief is also held with sufficient firmness and conviction. Richard Swinburne labels this the ‘Thomist view’ of faith, and expresses it thus: ‘The person of religious faith is the person who has the theoretical conviction that there is a God’ (Swinburne 2005, 138). (Aquinas’s own understanding of faith is more complex than this formulation suggests, however, as will be noted shortly.)

The rationality of faith on this model will rest on the rationality of the firmly held theological beliefs in which it consists. As Swinburne notes, if such beliefs are founded on evidence that renders their truth sufficiently more probable than not, then the beliefs concerned may amount to knowledge on a contemporary ‘justified true belief’ fallibilist epistemology, even though they fall short of knowledge on Aquinas’s own criteria, which require that what is known be ‘seen’ (i.e., fully and directly comprehended) ( Summa Theologiae 2a2ae 1, 4 & 5 (Aquinas 1265–1273 [2006], 27)). In any case, the reasonableness of faith on this model of faith as (non-basic) theological belief depends on the beliefs concerned being adequately evidentially justified. The claim that this condition is satisfied is defended by John Locke in The Reasonableness of Christianity (1695 [1999]), and, in contemporary philosophy, by Richard Swinburne’s Bayesian approach to the epistemology of Christian belief (see, for example, Swinburne 2003).

Some argue, however, that the truth of theism is ‘evidentially ambiguous’—that is, that our total available evidence is equally viably interpreted from both a theist and a naturalist/atheist perspective (Hick 1966 and 1989; Davis 1978; Penelhum 1995; McKim 2001). This thesis of evidential ambiguity may be supported as the best explanation of the diversity of belief on religious matters, and/or of the persistence of the debate about theism, with philosophers of equal acumen and integrity engaged on either side. Or the ambiguity may be considered systematic—for example, on the grounds that both natural theological and natural atheological arguments fail because they are deeply circular, resting on implicit assumptions acceptable only to those already thinking within the relevant perspective. (In relation to Swinburne’s Bayesian natural theology, in particular, this objection surfaces in criticism of assumptions about how to set the prior probabilities implicated in calculations of, for example, theism’s probability on the evidence of the ‘fine-tuning’ of the Universe’s basic physical constants, or of the probability, on all our evidence, of the truth of the Resurrection.) If the ambiguity thesis is correct, then—assuming evidentialism—firmly held theistic belief will fail to be reasonable.

On this model of faith as non-basic belief, all that characterizes faith apart from its theological content is the firmness or conviction with which faith-propositions are held true. Firm belief in the truth of a scientific theoretical proposition, for example, fails to count as faith only through lacking the right kind of content. This model therefore shares with the Reformed epistemologist model in taking its theological content as essential to what makes theistic faith faith , and so rejects the suggestion that faith of the same sort as found in the theist religious traditions might also be found elsewhere.

Furthermore, in taking faith to consist in non-basic belief that theological propositions are true, this model invites the assumption that theological convictions belong in the same category of factual claims as scientific theoretical hypotheses with which they accordingly compete. That assumption will lead those who think that theological claims are not reasonably accepted on the evidence to regard faith as worthless and intellectually dishonourable—at best, ‘a degenerating research programme’ (Lakatos 1970). (On this negative assessment of faith’s evidential support, persons of faith come perilously close to the schoolboy’s definition mentioned by William James: ‘Faith is when you believe something that you know ain’t true’ (James 1896 [1956, 29]). Or, if persons who have theistic faith readily abandon theological explanations whenever competing scientific ones succeed, their God gets reduced to ‘the God of the gaps’.) These misgivings about the model of faith as firmly held factual theological belief dissolve, of course, if success attends the project of showing that particular theological claims count as factual hypotheses well supported by the total available evidence. Those who doubt that this condition is or can be met may, however, look towards a model of faith that understands faith’s cognitive content as playing some other role than that of an explanatory hypothesis of the same kind as a scientific explanatory hypothesis.

Aquinas’s account of faith

Though firmly held theological belief is central to it, Aquinas’s understanding of faith is more complicated and nuanced than the view that faith is ‘the theoretical conviction that God exists’. Aquinas holds that faith is ‘midway between knowledge and opinion’ ( Summa Theologiae 2a2ae 1, 2 (Aquinas [2006], 11)). Faith resembles knowledge, Aquinas thinks, in so far as faith carries conviction. But that conviction is not well described as ‘theoretical’, if that description suggests that faith has a solely propositional object. For Aquinas, faith denotes the believer’s fundamental orientation towards the divine. So ‘from the perspective of the reality believed in’, Aquinas says, ‘the object of faith is something non-composite ’ (hence, definitely not propositional)—namely God himself. Nevertheless, grasping the truth of propositions is essential to faith, because ‘ from the perspective of the one believing … the object of faith is something composite in the form of a proposition’ ( Summa Theologiae , 2a2ae, 1, 2 (Aquinas [2006], 11 & 13), our emphases).

A further problem with describing as Thomist a model of faith simply as firm belief that certain theological propositions are true is that Aquinas takes as central an act of ‘inner assent’ ( Summa Theologiae , 2a2ae, 2, 1 (Aquinas [2006], 59–65)). This is problematic because, (i) in its dominant contemporary technical usage belief is taken to be a mental (intentional) state —a propositional attitude, namely, the attitude towards the relevant proposition that it is true; (ii) belief in this contemporary sense is widely agreed not to be under volitional control—not directly, anyway; yet (iii) Aquinas holds that the assent given in faith is under the control of the will. Aquinas need not, however, be construed as accepting ‘believing at will’, since assent may be construed as an act that has to be elicited yet terminates a process that is subject to the will—a process of inquiry, deliberation or pondering that involves mental actions, or, in the case of theist faith, a process of divine grace that can proceed only if it is not blocked by the will.

Most importantly, however, Aquinas says that assent is given to the propositional articles of faith because their truth is revealed by God , and on the authority of the putative source of this revelation. Terence Penelhum puts it like this: ‘Thomas tells us that although what one assents to in faith includes many items not ostensibly about God himself, one assents to them, in faith, because they are revealed by God … It is because they come from him and because they lead to him that the will disposes the intellect to accept them’ (Penelhum 1989, 122: see Summa Theologiae , 2a2ae, 1, 1 & 2 (Aquinas [2006], 5–15)). So, Aquinas’s model of faith is of believing (assenting to) propositional truth-claims on the basis of testimony carrying divine authority . John Locke follows the same model: ‘Faith … is the assent to any proposition … upon the credit of the proposer, as coming from God, in some extraordinary way of communication’ (Locke 1698 [1924, 355]; compare also Alston 1996, 15).

The unanswered question of entitlement—again

Theist faith as assent to truths on the basis of an authoritative source of divine revelation is possible, though, only for those who already believe that God exists and is revealed through the relevant sources. Might such faith, then, have to rest on a prior faith—faith that God exists and that this is God’s messenger or vehicle of communication? Those foundational claims, it might be maintained, are held true on the grounds of adequately supporting evidence, such as putatively provided by arguments of natural theology and the claimed evidence for miraculous endorsement of a prophet’s authority. Theist faith might then have a purely rational foundation. But this could hardly be so for every person of faith, since not everyone who believes will have access to the relevant evidence or be able to assess it properly. Besides, and more importantly, although Aquinas allows that rational assessment of the available evidence may lead a person to faith, he does not think that such an assessment could ever elicit assent itself—only demonstration could achieve that and so high a level of proof is not here available (see Aquinas [2006], footnote 2b, 58–9). Aquinas’s view is thus that all believers stand in need of God’s grace: ‘the assent of faith, which is its principal act … has as its cause God, moving us inwardly through grace’ ( Summa Theologiae , 2a2ae 6, 1 (Aquinas [2006], 167)). It follows, then, that, on Aquinas’s view, believing that God exists and is revealed in specific ways is itself a matter of faith, and not a purely rationally evidentially secured prolegomenon to it.

Aquinas’s model of faith thus shares with the Reformed epistemologist model the problem that it leaves unanswered the reflective believer’s concern about entitlement. Attempting to settle that concern by meeting the evidential requirement leads to circularity: theological truths are to be accepted on divine authority, yet the truth that there is such an authority (historically mediated as the relevant tradition maintains) is amongst those very truths that are to be accepted on divine authority—indeed, it is the crucial one. As Descartes puts it in the Dedication to his Meditations , ‘It is of course quite true that we must believe in the existence of God because it is a doctrine of Holy Scripture, and conversely, that we must believe Holy Scripture because it comes from God. … But this argument cannot be put to unbelievers because they would judge it to be circular’ (Descartes 1641 [Cottingham et al. 1984, 3]). Thus, although they differ on the question whether the firm beliefs of faith count as knowledge, both Aquinas and Calvin understand faith as essentially involving accepting the truth of propositions as revealed through willingly receiving God’s gracious gift of that very revelation. The question remains how accepting this gift could be epistemically rational. The externalist account of how Christian beliefs may have epistemic worth proposed in Plantinga’s model of faith (named ‘the A/C’ model because its sources are supposedly found in Aquinas as well as Calvin) offers some help with the required explanation, but (as noted in the final paragraph of Section 4 above) may arguably not by itself be sufficient.

Revelation—and its philosophical critique

The reasonableness of belief that God exists is a focal issue in the Philosophy of Religion. Theist traditions typically, or some would say essentially, make a foundational claim about an authoritative source, or sources, of revealed truth. What is salient includes belief or some related sort of affirmation, not just that God exists but associated content such as that this God exists, the God who is revealed thus and so (in great historical acts, in prophets, in scriptures, in wisdom handed down, etc.). The reasonableness of theism is therefore as much a matter of the reasonableness of an epistemology of revelation as it is of a metaphysics of perfect being. The question of how God may be expected to make himself known has gained prominence through recent discussion of the argument for atheism from ‘divine hiddenness’ (Schellenberg 1993; Howard-Snyder and Moser 2002). That argument holds that a loving God would make his existence clear to the non-resistant—but this claim is open to question. Perhaps God provides only ‘secret’ evidence of his existence, purposely overturning the expectations of our ‘cognitive idolatry’ in order to transform our egocentric self-reliance (Moser 2008); besides, there may be significant constraints logically inherent in the very possibility of unambiguous divine revelation to finite minds (King 2008).

Similarly, accounts of theistic faith will be open to critique when they make assumptions about the mechanisms of revelation. In particular, the model of faith as assent to propositions as revealed holds that, since God’s grace is required for that assent, when grace is effective the whole ‘package deal’ of propositional revealed truth is accepted. This yields the notion of ‘ the Faith’, as the body of theological truths to be accepted by ‘the faithful’, and it becomes a sign of resistance to divine grace to ‘pick and choose’ only some truths, as heretics do (Greek: hairesis , choice; see Summa Theologiae 2a2ae 5, 3 (Aquinas [2006], 157–61)). For heresy to be judged, however, some human authority must assume it possesses the full doctrinal revelation, with God’s grace operating without resistance in its own case. Whether that assumption can ever be sufficiently well founded to justify condemning and purging others is an important question, whose neglect may be seriously harmful, as we are reminded by the fact that the phrase for ‘act of faith’ in Portuguese— auto-da-fé —came to mean the public burning of a heretic.

But the deeper assumption made by this model of faith as non-basic (justified) belief (as, too, by the model of it as basic knowledge yielded by the proper functioning of a special cognitive faculty) is that God’s self-revelation is primarily the revelation of the truth of propositions articulated in human language (compare Swinburne 1992). Alternative understandings of revelation are available, however. In particular, it may be held that it is primarily the divine itself that is revealed—the reality, not merely a representation of it. (See Lebens 2023 for discussion of faith as knowledge by acquaintance with God from a Jewish perspective). Propositional articulations of what is revealed may still be essential, but they need to be accepted as at a remove from the object of revelation itself, and therefore as limited. The development of propositional articulations expressing the nature and will of the self-revealing God—the doctrines of ‘the Faith’—will, of course, be understood as a process under providential grace. It is often assumed that that process can achieve ‘closure’ in a completed set of infallibly known creedal propositions. But this assumption about how divine inspiration operates may be contested, both on the theological grounds that it reflects the all-too-human desire to gain control over God’s self-revelation (to ‘pin God down once and for all’), and on the wider epistemological grounds that any attempt to grasp independent reality in human language will be in principle limited and fallible, subject to revision in the light of future experience.

Not all models of faith, however, identify it as primarily a matter of knowing or believing a proposition or a set of them, even with the addition of some affective or evaluative component. What is most central to theistic faith may seem better expressed as believing in God, rather than as believing that God exists. The Christian Nicene creed begins ‘Credo in unum Deum …’ and it is arguable that in this context ‘belief in’ is neither merely an idiomatic variant on, nor reducible to, ‘belief that’ (Price 1965). It may thus be held that theists’ acceptance of propositional truths as divinely revealed rests on believing in God—and it is this ‘believing in’, or ‘having faith in’, which is, fundamentally, the nature of faith. Noting that, while faith is held to be a virtue, believing as such is not, Wilfred Cantwell Smith argues that ‘faith is not belief’, ‘but something of a quite different order’ (Smith 1979, 128), requiring ‘assent’ ‘in the dynamic and personal sense of rallying to [what one takes to be the truth] with delight and engagement’ (142). Arguably, to put or to maintain faith in God involves a readiness to act, perhaps by relying on God in relevant ways and/or grounded in a practical commitment. Our considerations now shift, then, from propositional-attitude-focussed models of faith to those focussed on action, or what J. L. Schellenberg calls ‘operational’ models (2005, 126).

Judeo-Christian scripture envisions humans as actively engaged in a covenantal relationship with God. Their ongoing participation in, and commitment to, such a relationship paradigmatically involves both faith in God and faithfulness to God (McKaughan and Howard-Snyder 2022a and 2023a; Pace and McKaughan 2020). The kind of faith of which Christian faith is a paradigm case, then, may be understood as ‘action-centred commitment’ (McKaughan 2016, 78), e.g., to the Christian ‘way’. Arguably, faith understood as a combination of affective and cognitive elements would miss its essential active component. We now turn, then, to consider a fiducial model—a model of faith as trust, understood not simply as an affective state but as an action .

On a fiducial model, having faith in God is making a practical commitment —the kind involved in trusting God , or, trusting in God. (The root meaning of the Greek pistis , ‘faith’, is ‘trust’ (see Morgan 2015).) On such a model, faith’s active, practical component takes central place, though a cognitive component may be presupposed by it. Swinburne calls it the ‘Lutheran’ model, and defines it thus: ‘the person of faith does not merely believe that there is a God (and believe certain propositions about him)—he trusts Him and commits himself to Him’ (2005, 142). Yet, as noted earlier, Aquinas too takes the ultimate object of faith to be God, ‘the first reality’, and, furthermore, understands ‘formed’ faith as trusting commitment to God, motivated by, and directed towards, love of God as one’s true end (see Summa Theologiae 2a2ae, 4, 3; Aquinas [2006], 123–7). It is true that Aquinas allows that the devils have faith in a certain sense, but this ‘faith’ amounts only to their belief that what the Church teaches is the truth, arrived at not by grace but ‘forced from them’ reluctantly by ‘the acumen of their natural intelligence’ ( Summa Theologiae 2a2ae, 5, 2; Aquinas [2006], 155 & 157). Aquinas’s account of ‘saving’ faith is thus also a fiducial model.

The venture of trust

As noted at the outset, there is a usage of ‘faith’ for which ‘having/placing faith in’ is (near enough) synonymous with ‘trusting’ or ‘trusting in’. (For discussion of how faith relates to a range of contemporary theories of trust, see McKaughan and Howard-Snyder 2022b.) If, moreover, faith of the religious kind is itself a type of trust, then we may expect our understanding of religious faith to profit from an analysis of trust in general. It is therefore worth considering what follows about the nature of faith of the sort exemplified in theistic faith from holding it to be a kind of active trust.

Conceptually fundamental to trust is the notion of a person (or persons)—the truster—trusting in some agent or agency—the trustee— for some (assumedly) favourable outcome (though what the trustee is trusted for is often only implicit in the context). Trust involves a venture ; so too—it is widely agreed—does faith. So, if faith is trust, the venture of faith might be presumed to be the type of venture implicated in trust. A venture is an action that places the agent and outcomes of concern to the agent significantly beyond the agent’s own control. Trust implies venture. When we trust we commit ourselves to another’s control, accepting—and, when necessary, co-operating as ‘patient’—with the decisions of the trustee. Venturing in trust is usually assumed to be essentially risky, making oneself vulnerable to adverse outcomes or betrayal. Swinburne makes the point this way: ‘To trust someone is to act on the assumption that she will do for you what she knows that you want or need, when the evidence gives some reason for supposing that she may not and where there will be bad consequences if the assumption is false’ (2005, 143). Annette Baier makes no requirement for evidence that the trustee may prove untrustworthy, but nevertheless takes trust to involve ‘accepted vulnerability to another’s possible but not expected ill will (or lack of good will) toward one’ (Baier 1986, 235, our emphasis). Accordingly, it seems sensible to hold that one should trust only with good reason. But if, as is plausible, good reason to trust requires sufficient evidence of the trustee’s trustworthiness, reasonable trust appears both to have its venturesomeness diminished and, at the same time, to become more difficult to achieve than we normally suppose. For we often lack adequate—or even, any—evidence of a trustee’s trustworthiness in advance of our venture, yet in many such cases we suppose that our trust is reasonable (see, for example, Adams 1987). But, if adequate evidence of trustworthiness is not required for reasonable trust, how is reasonable trust different from ‘blind’ trust?

The answer seems clear: reasonable trust is practically rational trust. The question of when one may rationally trust another may thus be resolved by a decision-theoretic calculation, factoring in the extent to which one’s evidence supports the potential trustee’s trustworthiness and the utilities of the possible outcomes, given one’s intended aims. The exercise of practical reasoning does include mental acts which are epistemically evaluable, however. When one takes it to be true in practical reasoning that someone will prove trustworthy, that mental act may be more or less epistemically rational: it would break the evidentialist norm to employ in a decision-theoretic calculation a credence that does not match one’s available evidence. In many situations, it will be practically rational, given one’s intentions, to trust another person only if one believes, or, at least, believes with high probability, that the person will prove trustworthy. In such situations it is also often the case, as already noted, that we don’t have adequate evidence in advance that this person will be trustworthy in this particular respect. Yet, affording high credence to a person’s trustworthiness may still be epistemically rational given wider available evidence of, for example, the person’s past friendliness and trustworthiness in other matters, or, if the person is a stranger, of our shared social experience that trusting others generally elicits a trustworthy response. Nevertheless, it can still be rational— practically rational, that is—to trust another when we don’t have adequate evidence that they will prove trustworthy. In a life-threatening situation, for example, it may be rational to trust unlikely rescuers if they are the only ones available. Or, when we have wider aims, it may be practically rational to trust those without a record of trustworthiness, as with ‘educative’ and ‘therapeutic’ trust where people are trusted for the sake of their development or rehabilitation as trustworthy persons. Being in established relationships of friendship with others, too, can also require commitment to continue to trust them even in the face of evidence that, otherwise, would make it reasonable to believe them unworthy of trust.

On models that take faith of the theist kind to consist fundamentally in an act of trust, the analogy with interpersonal trust is suggestive. When one person trusts another there seems typically (though not uniformly) to be a doxastic aspect (the truster’s belief that the trustee is trustworthy). But what’s essential is the fiducial aspect, which consists in an active commitment or ‘entrusting’ to the other. Paul Helm proposes that theist faith similarly has importantly distinct doxastic and fiducial aspects: in addition to belief about God’s existence and trustworthiness for salvation held with a degree of strength proportional to the believer’s evidence, persons of faith must also entrust themselves to the one on whom they rely (Helm 2000). While it is widely agreed that theist faith must have a cognitive aspect, some philosophers hold that this need not be doxastic (as we shall see in Section 8).

There are significant differences, however, between the trusting involved in theistic faith and that involved in interpersonal trust. For one thing, trusting would seem not to risk any possibility of disappointment if God really is the trustee. Given the existence of the God of unchanging love, one trusts in ultimately perfect safety. But the venture of actually entrusting oneself to God seems to begin with the challenge of being able to believe or accept that, indeed, there is such a God. While some affirm that this claim is a matter of basic knowledge, and some that there is sufficient evidence to justify it, others, as already noted, hold that everyone has to confront the evidential ambiguity of foundational theistic claims. For those who reject the model of theist faith as basic knowledge and also think that the question of God’s existence cannot be settled intellectually on the basis of the available evidence, the venture involved in trusting in God (if such there be) may seem to include a doxastic venture: those who trust already venture beyond the available evidence, in their very believing or accepting that God exists and may be relied on for salvation. Trusting in God seems to presuppose, in other words, trusting that God exists. But, if so, the question becomes pressing whether, and under what conditions, one may be entitled to such an evidence-transcending venture in practical commitment to a particular view of ultimate reality and its implications for how we should live.

Theological non-realism

One way to relieve this pressure is to offer a non-realist analysis of theological claims. Trusting God will then not entail any commitment to reality’s being a certain way. Rather, on arguably the most sophisticated kind of non-realist view, theological beliefs arise because living ‘trustingly’ comes to be expressed and reinforced through a culturally constructed fiction about God and his great saving acts. This existential confidence may then be described, using the language of the fiction, as ‘trusting God’ (Cupitt 1980, Geering 1994). On such a non-realist account, the model of faith as trust brackets the cognitive component of faith, and risks becoming, in effect, a model of faith as purely a certain kind of affective state. But, in any case, non-realist models will be rejected by those who take faith to have a cognitive component that functions as a grasping—or would-be grasping—of how things really are.

Defending doxastic venture by analogy with interpersonal trust?

Assuming, then, that theist faith does include (under realist assumptions) a venture in practical commitment to truth-claims about ultimate reality, the justifiability of such a venture might yet be thought defensible by analogy with interpersonal situations where practical commitment seems justifiably to be made beyond one’s evidence to the claim that a person will prove trustworthy in some relevant respect. Reflecting on that proposal discloses further points of disanalogy, however. In cases of interpersonal trust, a venture is often needed in initially taking the trustee to be trustworthy, but evidence will inevitably later emerge which will either confirm or disconfirm the truth of that claim, and trust may, and rationally should, be withdrawn if the news is bad. But if—as we are here assuming—one ventures beyond evidential support in taking it to be true in practical reasoning that God exists and may be trusted for salvation, this may be a venture that is not confined to initial commitment but rather persists in needing to be made. This will be the case on accounts of the evidential ambiguity of theism that take the ambiguity to hold in principle, ruling out any possibility of evidential disambiguation. Those accounts may grant, of course, that continuing to journey in theistic faith may psychologically reinforce one’s commitment, providing subjective confirmation that the theist view of reality is correct. Yet these reinforcing experiences, which often involve faith renewed in the face of apparent failures of divine love, do not possess the uncontroversial status of evidence that independently and inter-subjectively confirms the initial venture.

Doxastic venture without doxastic voluntarism

Many dismiss the idea that one may venture in one’s very believing that God exists as committing a category error: ventures are voluntary, but propositional belief is not directly under voluntary control. Trusting God, however, entails practical commitment to the truth of theological faith-propositions , and commitment to the truth of a proposition in one’s practical reasoning may be under direct voluntary control.

It is one thing to be in the mental state of holding that the proposition that p is true; it is another to take it to be true that p in one’s practical reasoning (although these typically go together, since to hold that p is true is to be disposed to take it to be true that p in practical reasoning whenever the question whether p becomes salient). Practical commitment to a faith-proposition’s truth therefore could be a venture: there is no category error in allowing this possibility. Doxastic venturing—venturing in believing—is thus not a matter of willing oneself to believe without adequate evidential support; rather it is a matter of taking an already held belief to be true in one’s practical reasoning even though (as one may oneself recognise) its truth lacks such support.

The psychological possibility of doxastic venture

Some philosophers have argued, however, that one cannot (in full reflective awareness, anyway) believe that p while accepting that one has insufficient evidence for p ’s truth (Adler 2002). The counterclaim that this is possible is defended by William James, in his controversial 1896 lecture, ‘The Will to Believe’ (James 1896 [1956]). James agrees that belief cannot be directly willed and must be otherwise causally evoked (he later came to wish that he had used ‘The Right to Believe’ as his lecture’s title). James observes, however, that many beliefs have causes that do not constitute or imply an evidential grounding of their truth. James labels such causes ‘passional’—again, a potentially misleading term, since its intended referents include much more than emotional causes of belief. In particular, beliefs may be caused by ‘the circumpressure of one’s caste or set,’ of which one’s inherited religious tradition is a paradigm case (James 1896 [1956, 9]). James is thus able to explain the psychological possibility of doxastic venture: one already has a ‘passionally’ caused belief, which one then takes to be true in practical reasoning despite its lack of adequate evidential grounding (compare Creel 1994, who similarly describes ‘faith’ as a ‘non-evidential doxastic passion’).

Note that a doxastic venture model of theistic faith reconciles faith as gift with faith’s active components: taking a faith-proposition to be true in practical reasoning is a basic (mental) action (which leads on to further actions involved in trusting God and seeking to do God’s will); the gift provides the motivational resources for this basic action, namely a firm belief in the truth of the faith-proposition, despite its lack of adequate evidential support. (In the next section, the possibility is considered that the gift of these motivational resources might be effective yet not amount to actual belief.) It is also worth noting that those who find the focus on the individual something of a deficiency in analytical accounts of faith (Eklund 2015) may perceive in James’ account some acknowledgment of the social aspect of faith. Arguably, the standard ‘passional’ or ‘non-evidential’ cause of religious belief is cultural immersion within an historical faith-tradition. The motivational resources for faith-commitment may thus be an essentially social possession.

Examples of doxastic venture models

On the doxastic venture model, faith involves full practical commitment to a faith-proposition’s truth, despite the recognition that this is not ‘objectively’ justified on the evidence. Kierkegaard’s definition of faith as ‘an objective uncertainty held fast in an appropriation process of the most passionate inwardness’ in Concluding Unscientific Postscript (Kierkegaard 1846 [1968, 180]) is an example of a doxastic venture model. So too is Paul Tillich’s account of faith as ‘the state of being ultimately concerned’, since the claim of the object of one’s ultimate concern to ‘promise total fulfilment even if all other claims have to be subjected to it or rejected in its name’ cannot in principle be established on the basis of the evidence (Tillich 1957 [2001, 1 and 21]).

Aquinas’s model of faith, though widely thought of as conforming to an evidential requirement on belief, may arguably be open to interpretation as a doxastic venture model. As noted in Section 5, Aquinas holds that the available evidence, though it supports the truth of foundational faith-propositions, does not provide what Aquinas counts as sufficient (i.e., demonstrative) support to justify inner assent (in addition to references to the Summa Theologiae given previously, see 2a2ae. 2, 1 (Aquinas [2006], 63); and compare also Penelhum 1989, 120). Now, whether practical commitment to the truth of a given faith-proposition does or does not venture beyond adequate evidential support will be relative to assumptions about (a) where the level of evidential support required for ‘adequacy’ should be set, and (b) just how firm and decisive propositional faith-commitment needs to be. On some such assumptions, for example those made by Bayesians, the support provided by the evidence Aquinas adduces—or, by a suitable contemporary upgrading of that evidence such as that provided in the works of Richard Swinburne—may be considered enough to make reasonable a sufficiently high degree of belief (or credence) in the truth of theistic faith-propositions so that believers need not venture beyond the support of their evidence. Interpreting Aquinas’s model of faith as conforming to evidentialism may thus be viable. Nevertheless, Aquinas’s own assumptions on these matters may leave him closer to Kierkegaard and Tillich than is commonly thought (consider Summa Theologiae 2a2ae 4, 1 and, once again, 2a2ae 6, 1 (Aquinas [2006], 117–9 & 167)).

The special role of faith-propositions

Bayesians might argue that there is no occasion for faith as doxastic venture since, once practical commitment to the truth of propositions is recognised as a matter of degree, whatever the state of the available evidence relating to a given proposition, there will always (given initial credences) be a rational credence properly associated with that evidence, and hence there are no possible circumstances where ‘the evidence does not decide’, so that an evidentialist requirement can indeed apply universally. Note, however, Lara Buchak’s (2012, 2018) discussion of ways in which Bayesians might understand faith as going beyond the evidence, and her own proposal that faith-ventures essentially include an additional practical commitment, which may be rational under certain conditions, not to inquire further into evidence relevant to the truth of the propositions concerned for the sole purpose of deciding what to do. (For critical discussion of this kind of restriction on inquiry in connection with faith commitments, see Dormandy 2018 and Howard-Snyder and McKaughan 2022a. Katherine Dormandy has recently proposed a positive defence of evidentialism in considering the question of what makes it good to form positive beliefs about those you have faith in, including God (Dormandy 2022).)

If the domain of faith is, as Stephen Evans puts it, ‘the assumptions, convictions and attitudes which the believer brings to the evidence for and against religious truth’ (Evans 1985, 178), and faith’s cognitive component offers a ‘total interpretation’ of the world of our experience (Hick 1966, 154), then (foundational) faith-propositions function as ‘highest-order framing principles’ which necessarily cannot have their truth settled by appeal to the force of a body of independent evidence (Bishop 2007a, 139–44). Taking such a faith-proposition to be true, then, is not something that comes in degrees: either one ‘buys into’ the overall worldview (foundational) faith-propositions propose, or one does not. Such a choice is existentially important, and settling it raises anxiety about exercising a responsibility that cannot—without ‘bad faith’—be transferred onto the relatively impersonal function of one’s reason, since a venture beyond any inter-subjectively rational evidential confirmation is required. The doxastic venture model may thus be regarded as capturing the spiritual challenge of faith more satisfactorily than do models that conform to evidentialism. This is because, on the doxastic venture model, faith involves a deeper surrender of self-reliant control, not only in trusting God, but in accepting at the level of practical commitment that there is a God—indeed, this God—who is to be trusted.

Doxastic venture models of faith and epistemic concern

Doxastic venture in relation to faith-propositions can be justifiable, of course, only if there are legitimate exceptions to the evidentialist requirement to take a proposition to be true just to the extent of its evidential support—and only if the legitimate exceptions include the kind of case involved in religious, theistic, faith-commitment.

A possible view of theistic faith-commitment is that it is wholly independent of the epistemic concern that cares about evidential support. On this view, faith reveals its authenticity most clearly when it takes faith-propositions to be true contrary to the weight of the evidence. This view is widely described as ‘fideist’, but ought more fairly to be called arational fideism, or, where commitment contrary to the evidence is positively favoured, irrational or counter-rational fideism. Despite its popular attribution both to the church father Tertullian and to ‘the father of existentialism’, Kierkegaard, counter-rational fideism does not seem to have been espoused by any significant theist philosophers (passages in Tertullian and Kierkegaard that appear to endorse this position may be interpreted as emphasizing that Christian faith requires accepting, not logical contradiction, but ‘contradiction’ of our ‘natural’ expectations, wholly overturned in the revelation that the power of divine love is triumphant in the Crucified One).

Serious philosophical defence of a doxastic venture model of faith thus implies a moderate version of fideism, for which epistemic concern is not overridden and for which, therefore, it is a constraint on faith-commitment that it not accept what is known, or justifiably believed on the evidence, to be false. Rather, faith commits itself only beyond , and not against, the evidence—and it does so out of epistemic concern to grasp truth on matters of vital existential importance. The thought that one may be entitled to commit to an existentially momentous truth-claim in principle undecidable on the evidence when forced to decide either to do so or not is what motivates William James’s ‘justification of faith’ in ‘The Will to Believe’ (James 1896 [1956]). If such faith is to be justified, its cognitive content will (on realist assumptions) have to cohere with our best evidence-based theories about the real world. Faith may extend our scientific grasp of the real, but may not counter it. Whether the desire to grasp more truth about the real than science can supply is a noble aspiration or a dangerous delusion is at the heart of the debate about entitlement to faith on this moderate fideist doxastic venture model.

A discussion of the debate between the moderate, Jamesian, fideist and the evidentialist is beyond this entry’s scope. Still, it is worth remarking that those who think that faith understood as doxastic venture may be justified as reasonable face the challenge of providing the tools for weeding out intuitively unreasonable forms of faith. On the other side, those evidentialists who reject doxastic venture as always impermissible have to consider whether taking a stance on the nature of reality beyond anything science can even in principle confirm may not, in the end, be unavoidable, and potentially implicated in the commitments required for science itself (see Bishop 2007a, Chapters 8 and 9; Bishop 2023). For a useful recent collection of articles on the wider theme of the relation of religious faith to intellectual virtue, see Callahan and O’Connor 2014.

Some accounts allow that faith centrally involves practical commitment venturing beyond evidential support, yet do not require (or, even, permit) that the venturer actually believes the faith-proposition assumed to be true. Such accounts may be described as proposing a ‘non-doxastic’ venture model of faith. F. R. Tennant holds a view of this kind: he takes faith to be the adoption of a line of conduct not warranted by present facts, that involves experimenting with the possible or ideal, venturing into the unknown and taking the risk of disappointment and defeat. Faith is not an attempt to will something into existence but rather treating hoped for and unseen things as if they were real and then acting accordingly (Tennant 1943 [1989, 104]). Swinburne refers to this as the ‘pragmatist’ model of faith (Swinburne 2005, 147–8; Swinburne 2001, 211; compare also Golding 1990, 2003 and McKaughan 2016). The origins of Swinburne’s pragmatist model are to be found in a much earlier paper, Swinburne 1969.

William Alston (1996) suggests that faith may involve an active ‘acceptance’ rather than purely receptive belief. A clearly non-doxastic venture model results if acceptance is understood on Jonathan Cohen’s account under which to accept that p is ‘to have or adopt a policy of deeming, positing, or postulating that p —i.e. of including that proposition … among one’s premisses for deciding what to do or think in a particular context, whether or not one feels it to be true that p ’ (Cohen 1992, 4, our emphasis). The firmness of faith-commitment is then just the firmness of one’s ‘ resolve to use [faith-claims] as a basis for one’s thought, attitude and behaviour’ (Alston 1996, 17): there is no firm assurance of their truth . Decisive commitment in the absence of such assurance may nevertheless be possible, motivated (as Swinburne suggested in the first edition of his Faith and Reason ) by the evaluative belief that ‘unless [faith-propositions are true], that which is most worthwhile is not to be had’ (Swinburne, 1981, 117). A faith venture that lacks belief in the faith-proposition to which commitment is made need not, and probably could not, lack cognitive components altogether, as this suggestion of Swinburne’s indicates.

Andrei Buckareff (2005) and J. L. Schellenberg (2005, 138–9) propose non-doxastic (or, ‘sub-doxastic’) venture models of propositional faith, with Schellenberg emphasising the positive evaluation that persons of faith make of the truth-claim to which they commit themselves. In response to Daniel Howard-Snyder (2013a) Schellenberg allows that faith may in some instances involve belief while still maintaining that ‘non-doxastic religious faith … will turn out to be a particularly important way of having religious faith as we head into the future’ (2013, 262). Bishop (2005), in response to Buckareff, also agrees that authentic faith need not always be a specifically doxastic venture. There may, then, be an emerging consensus amongst proponents of venture models that faith, at its core, consists in suitably motivated persistent practical commitment ‘beyond the evidence’ to the positively evaluated truth of foundational faith-claims which may, but need not, actually be believed to be true.

Robert Audi (2011) has also defended a non-doxastic account of faith, contrasting ‘fiducial faith’ and ‘doxastic faith’, and arguing that authentic religious faith need only amount to the former. Audi’s account is not strictly a ‘venture’ model, however, since he does not take commitment beyond the support of adequate evidence to be essential. Audi’s account suggests that religious faith is sui generis , but capable of being understood through its relations with other psychological states and actions, such as beliefs, evaluations and practical commitments. Rational assessment of religious faith, Audi thinks, must avoid treating it as implying belief, while recognising that greater confidence attaches to it than to religious hope. For another version of a non-doxastic account of faith, as a person’s ‘affective orientation or stance’, see Jonathan Kvanvig (2013, 2018). The question whether faith entails belief (even if it may not consist purely in beliefs) remains a lively focus of debate. For defence of the view that faith entails belief, see Malcolm and Scott 2016 and Mugg 2021; for criticism see Howard-Snyder 2019.

Some philosophers have suggested that the epistemological challenges faced by accounts of faith as involving belief beyond the evidence may be avoided by construing theist commitment as hope. Theist hope seems not to be mere tenacity (‘clinging to one’s hopes’) (Taylor 1961), but a more complex attitude. James Muyskens suggests, for example, that one who hopes ‘keep[s] his life open or fluid with respect to [a faith-proposition] p —where (a) neither p nor not- p is certain for him, (b) he wants p and (c) he sees p as constructively connected with his own well-being and/or concept of himself as a person’ (1979, 35). Muyskens contrasts hope with faith (understood as belief), arguing that a religion of hope is both epistemically and religiously superior to a religion of faith. But faith is not generally understood as competing with hope (Creel 1993), and some philosophers identify faith with hoping that the claims of faith are true (Pojman 1986; 2003). Hope as such is an attitude rather than an active commitment, and, as Audi observes, it contrasts with the attitude of faith at least in this respect, namely, that surprise makes little sense as a response to discovering that the object of one’s faith is indeed the case, whereas there need be nothing inappropriate in surprise at the fulfilment of one’s hopes (see Audi 2011, 74).

A more adequate model of faith as hope, then, may rather take faith to be acting in, or from, hope. Such a model then comes close to a non-doxastic venture model of faith, differing only in so far as acting from hope that God exists differs from taking this claim to be true (albeit without belief) in one’s practical reasoning, but this difference may be undetectable at the level of behavioral outcomes (see McKaughan 2013). A model of faith as acting in hope shares with the doxastic and non-doxastic venture models in rejecting the view that faith requires cognitive certainty. But one can act in hope with firmness and resilience, given a strong affective/evaluative stance, even if one lacks belief that one’s hopes will be fulfilled. Hoping that p , however, does not involve taking a stand on its being true that p , which is widely thought to be essential to faith.

The ‘venture’ models of faith (with or without belief) and the model of faith as a venture in hope all fit the view that faith is consistent with doubt, and, indeed, impossible without doubt of some kind, though they allow that persons who have faith may give firm and sustained commitment to the truth of faith-propositions in practice (for discussion of different kinds of doubt and their compatibility or incompatibility with faith and belief see Howard-Snyder 2013b, 359). The ‘certainty’ of faith on these models is more a matter of the certainty that persons of faith find themselves conferring on the foundational claims of their faith, rather than a matter of discovering in themselves a certain knowledge or intellectual conviction of the truth of these claims. It is possible, then, on these accounts of faith, to be a committed person of faith and also an ‘agnostic’ in Thomas Huxley’s original sense of someone who does not claim as knowledge the commitments he or she nevertheless makes as a foundational practical orientation to reality. (For discussion of the compatibility of Muslim faith and doubt, see Aijaz 2023.)

Faith is traditionally regarded as one of the ‘theological’ virtues. If a virtue is a ‘disposition of character which instantiates or promotes responsiveness to one or more basic goods’, then theistic faith qualifies since it is ‘a responsiveness to practical hope and truth’, provided theistic faith-claims are indeed true (Chappell 1996, 27). Faith will not, however, be a virtue as such , if it is accepted that faith can be misplaced or, even, ‘demonic’, directed upon a ‘false ultimate’ (Tillich 1957 [2001, 21]). To be virtuous, faith must be faith in a worthy object: it is faith in God that is the theological virtue. More generally, faith is virtuous only when it is faith to which one is entitled. An account of the conditions under which faith is permissible is thus the key to an ethics of faith.

On models of faith as a (special) kind of knowledge, or as firmly held belief, it may seem puzzling how faith could be a virtue—unless some implicit practical component emerges when such models are further explicated, or, alternatively, a case may be made for the claim that what is involuntary may nevertheless be praiseworthy, with theist faith as a case in point (Adams 1987). (For discussion of how faith might be voluntary, even if faith entails belief, or indeed is a type of belief, and belief is not under our direct voluntary control, see Rettler 2018.) Furthermore, as already suggested (Sections 4 & 5 above), models of faith as knowledge or belief fail to provide non-circular conditions sufficient for entitlement, unless the truth of faith-propositions is established by independent argument and evidence. If faith is understood as, or as essentially including, beliefs held on insufficient evidence, it is also hard to understand why Abrahamic religious traditions have valued it so highly, let alone why God might be thought to make salvation contingent on such belief (Kvanvig 2018, 106; McKaughan and Howard-Snyder 2021).

Fiducial models of faith seem more attuned to exhibiting faith as a virtue, though a defence of the trustworthiness of the one who is trusted for salvation may be required. Doxastic and non-doxastic venture models of faith can vindicate faith as a virtue, provided they provide robust entitlement conditions, to ensure that not just any ‘leap of faith’ is permissible. The Jamesian account already mentioned (Section 7) aims to meet this need. James’s own view of what suffices to justify a faith-venture arguably needs an ethical supplement: both the non-evidential motivation for the venture and its content must be morally acceptable (Bishop 2007a, 163–6).

If faith of the religious kind is to count as valuable and/or virtuous, it seems there must be a suitable degree of resilience in the commitment made (see Howard-Snyder and McKaughan 2022b for arguments that faith requires resilience; for discussion of the value and potential virtuousness or viciousness of resilient faith see McKaughan and Howard-Snyder 2023a; on the rationality of resilient faith see Buchak 2017, Jackson 2021, and McKaughan 2016). Persons of religious faith and faithfulness both put their faith in and are faith ful to the object of their commitment, though the salient kind of faithfulness may be a matter of the continual renewal of faith rather than of maintaining it unchanged (Pace and McKaughan 2020). (See Audi 2014 for a discussion of faith and faithfulness in relation to virtue. Audi defends faithfulness as, like courage, an ‘adjunctive’ virtue, and argues that being ‘a person of faith’ counts as a ‘virtue of personality’.)

Faith is only one of the Christian theological virtues, of course, the others being hope and charity (or love, agapē ): St. Paul famously affirms that the greatest of these is love (I Cor. 13:13). The question thus arises how these three virtues are related. One suggestion is that faith is taking it to be true that there are grounds for the hope that love is supreme—not simply in the sense that love constitutes the ideal of the supreme good, but in the sense that living in accordance with this ideal constitutes an ultimate salvation, fulfilment or consummation that is, in reality, victorious over all that may undermine it (in a word, over evil). The supremacy of love is linked to the supremacy of the divine itself, since love is the essential nature of the divine. What is hoped for, and what faith assures us is properly hoped for, is a sharing in the divine itself, loving as God loves (see Brian Davies on Aquinas, 2002). On this understanding, reducing faith to a kind of hope (Section 9 above) would eradicate an important relation between the two—namely that people of faith take reality to be such that their hope (for salvation, the triumph of the good) is well founded, and not merely an attractive fantasy or inspiring ideal. (See Jeffrey 2017 for discussion of the moral permissibility of faith, particularly in connection with hope.)

What is the potential scope of faith? On some models, the kind of faith exemplified by theistic faith is found only there. On models which take faith to consist in knowledge or belief, faith is intrinsically linked to theological content—indeed, in the case of Christian faith, to orthodox Christian theological content, specifiable as one unified set of doctrines conveyed to receptive human minds by the operation of divine grace. The venture models, however, allow for the possibility that authentic faith may be variously realised, and be directed upon different, and mutually incompatible, intentional objects. This pluralism is an important feature of accounts of faith in the American pragmatist tradition. John Dewey strongly rejected the notion of faith as a special kind of knowledge (Dewey 1934, 20), as did William James, whose ‘justification of faith’ rests on a permissibility thesis, under which varied and conflicting faith-commitments may equally have a place in the ‘intellectual republic’ (James 1896 [1956, 30]). Charles S. Peirce, another influential American pragmatist, arguably held a non-doxastic view of faith (Pope 2018).

Both Dewey and James defend models of faith with a view to advancing the idea that authentic religious faith may be found outside what is generally supposed to be theological orthodoxy. Furthermore, they suggest that ‘un-orthodox’ faith may be more authentic than ‘orthodox’ faith. ‘The faith that is religious’, says Dewey, ‘[I should describe as] the unification of the self through allegiance to inclusive ideal ends, which imagination presents to us and to which the human will responds as worthy of controlling our desires and choices’ (1934, 33). And James: ‘Religion says essentially two things: First, she says that the best things are the more eternal things, the overlapping things, the things in the universe that throw the last stone, so to speak, and say the final word. ... [and] the second affirmation of religion is that we are better off now if we believe her first affirmation to be true’ (James 1896 [1956, 25–6]). While some of what Dewey and James say about justifiable faith may appear non-realist, in fact they both preserve the idea that religious faith aspires to grasp, beyond the evidence, vital truth about reality. For example, Dewey holds that religious belief grounds hope because it takes something to be true about the real world ‘which carr[ies] one through periods of darkness and despair to such an extent that they lose their usual depressive character’ (1934, 14–5).

A general—i.e., non-theologically specific—account of the religious kind of faith may have potential as a tool for criticising specific philosophical formulations of the content of religious faith. The conditions for permissible faith-venture may exclude faith in God under certain inadequate conceptions of who or what God is. Arguably, the ‘personal omniGod’ of much contemporary philosophy of religion is just such an inadequate conception (Bishop 2007b). An understanding of what faith is, then, may motivate radical explorations into the concept of God as held in the theistic traditions (Bishop 1998; Johnston 2009; Bishop and Perszyk 2014, 2023).

Can there be faith of the same general kind as found in theistic religious faith yet without adherence to any theistic tradition? Those who agree with F. R. Tennant that ‘faith is an outcome of the inborn propensity to self-conservation and self-betterment which is a part of human nature, and is no more a miraculously superadded endowment than is sensation or understanding’ (1943 [1989, 111]) will consider that this must be a possibility. Tennant himself suggests that ‘much of the belief which underlies knowledge’—and he has scientific knowledge in mind—‘is the outcome of faith which ventures beyond the apprehension and treatment of data to supposition, imagination and creation of ideal objects, and justifies its audacity and irrationality (in accounting them to be also real) by practical actualization’ (1943 [1989, 100]). Faith in this sense, however, may not seem quite on a par with faith of the religious kind. True, scientists must act as if their ‘ideal objects’ are real in putting their theories to the empirical test; but they will ‘account them to be also real’ only when these tests do provide confirmation in accordance with the applicable inter-subjective norms.

If faith is understood as commitment beyond independent inter-subjective evidential support to the truth of some overall interpretation of experience and reality, then all who commit themselves (with sufficient steadfastness) to such a Weltanschauung or worldview will be people of faith. Faith of this kind may be religious, and it may be religious without being theistic, of course, as in classical Buddhism or Taoism. Some have argued that faith is a human universal: Cantwell Smith, for example, describes it as ‘a planetary human characteristic [involving the] capacity to perceive, to symbolize, and live loyally and richly in terms of, a transcendent dimension to [human] life’ (1979, 140–141). There may also, arguably, be non-religious faith: for example, ‘scientific atheists’ or ‘naturalists’ may be making a faith-venture when they take there to be no more to reality than is in principle discoverable by the natural sciences. The suggestion that atheism rests on a faith-venture will, however, be resisted by those who maintain ‘the presumption of atheism’ (Flew, 1976): if atheism is rationally the default position, then adopting it requires no venture.

An atheist’s faith-venture may, in any case, seem oddly so described on the grounds that it provides no basis for practical hope or trust. Providing such a basis may plausibly be thought necessary for faith—the truth to which the venturer commits must be existentially important in this way. (Note James’s requirement that faith-commitment is permissible only for resolving a ‘genuine option’, where a genuine option has inter alia to be ‘momentous’, that is, existentially significant and pressing (James 1896 [1956, 3–4]).) Truth-claims accepted by faith of the religious kind seem essentially to be ‘saving’ truths—solutions to deep problems about the human situation. And there may thus be arguments as to which religious tradition offers the best solutions to human problems (see, for example, Yandell 1990, 1999). J. L. Schellenberg (2009) argues that the only kind of religious faith that could be justified (if any is) is a sceptical ‘ultimism’, in which one ‘assents’ to and treats as real an imaginatively grasped conception of a metaphysically, axiologically and soteriologically ultimate reality.

Some may nevertheless argue that an existentially vital faith that grounds hope can belong within a wholly secular context—that is, without counting in any recognisable sense as ‘religious’. Cantwell Smith claims, for example, that ‘the Graeco-Roman heritage … and its fecundating role in Western life [can] be seen as one of the major spiritual traditions of our world’ (1979, 139). Annette Baier suggests that ‘the secular equivalent of faith in God, which we need in morality as well as in science or knowledge acquisition, is faith in the human community and its evolving procedures – in the prospects for many-handed cognitive ambitions and moral hopes’ (Baier 1980, 133). More broadly, some maintain that a meaningful spirituality is consistent with a non-religious atheist naturalism, and include something akin to faith as essential to spirituality. For example, Robert Solomon takes spirituality to mean ‘the grand and thoughtful passions of life’, and holds that ‘a life lived in accordance with those passions’ entails choosing to see the world as ‘benign and life [as] meaningful’, with the tragic not to be denied but accepted (Solomon 2002, 6 & 51). (For further discussion of faith in secular contexts, see Preston-Roedder 2018, Tsai 2017, and Ichikawa 2020; for special journal issues addressing a variety of issues in the philosophy of faith in both religious and secular contexts, see Rice et al. 2017; Malcolm 2023; McKaughan and Howard-Snyder 2023b.)

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How to cite this entry . Preview the PDF version of this entry at the Friends of the SEP Society . Look up topics and thinkers related to this entry at the Internet Philosophy Ontology Project (InPhO). Enhanced bibliography for this entry at PhilPapers , with links to its database.

• Jackson, E., “ Faith: Contemporary Perspectives ” and Swindal, J., “ Faith: Historical Perspectives ”, The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy .
• Pope, H., 1909, “ Faith ”, in The Catholic Encyclopedia , New York: Robert Appleton Company.

Aquinas, Thomas | belief | Christian theology, philosophy and | fideism | James, William | Kierkegaard, Søren | pragmatic arguments and belief in God | religion: and science | religion: epistemology of | religion: philosophy of | trust

Acknowledgments

The authors thank Sophie Milne and Selwyn Fraser for research assistance on this entry, and Imran Aijaz, Robert Audi, Thomas Harvey, Daniel Howard-Snyder, Katherine Munn Dormandy, Glen Pettigrove and John Schellenberg for helpful comments on drafts.

Copyright © 2023 by John Bishop < jc . bishop @ auckland . ac . nz > Daniel J. McKaughan < daniel . mckaughan @ bc . edu >

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A Most Excellent Way

An essay on faith, hope, and love, an english translation of une voie infiniment supérieure: essai sur la foi, l’espérance et l’amour by christophe chalamet, christophe chalamet, also available.

What’s So Important about Faith, Hope, and Love?

The Three Divine Sisters

Faith, hope, and love have been referred to as the three divine sisters. We can think of them as three beautiful sisters joined together hand in hand, swirling around as in a dance.

Eventually, faith and hope vanish from the scene and love is left dancing alone forever. This picture may appear odd until we realize that faith and hope were there to help love on her way, until she was mature enough to be alone. For she exists as the greatest of the sisters and deserves the preeminence—just as Christ remains the greatest of the sons of men and deserves the same.

Faith, hope, and love are also referred to as the theological virtues. The Christian life—in terms of our living in response to God and his new work in us—springs from faith, hope, and love. Everything we do as Christians relates to these three virtues and they all have a longing, an expectation, a desire that will one day be fully realized when Christ returns in glory.

To possess only one of these graces would be misery.

But to possess all of these graces is delight .

Mark Jones (PhD, Leiden Universiteit) serves as the pastor of Faith Vancouver Presbyterian Church (PCA) in British Columbia, Canada. He has authored many books, including Living for God and God Is , and speaks all over the world on Christology and the Christian life. Mark and his wife, Barbara, have four children.

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Hope When We Sin by Not Doing Anything

Take part in TGC’s Read the Bible initiative, where we’re encouraging Christians and churches to read together through God’s Word in a year.

I don’t usually talk about sins of omission. I have my common, go-to sin examples I reference when teaching—sins like lying, lust, and greed. Are there really sins we commit by not doing anything? Is that right? If I didn’t do anything, how could I have done something wrong?

God makes it clear that sins of omission are not only possible but all too common. James 4:17 says we sin if we know good we ought to do and don’t do it. Paul echoes this sentiment when he writes, “I do not do the good I want” (Rom. 7:19).

Before Christ came and offered himself up as our ultimate and final sacrifice (Heb. 10:10), God reminded his people of their sins by giving them the series of five sacrifices described in the opening chapters of Leviticus. The first sacrifice, the whole burnt offering, was specifically given to cover the people’s sins of omission.

Whole Burnt Offering

The whole burnt offering was the most frequently performed offering in Israel. The sacrifice was made twice each day and additional times on special holy days (Num. 28).

God makes it clear that sins of omission are not only possible but all too common.

The Hebrew word for “burnt offering,” ʿōlâ , comes from a root meaning “to ascend” or “to go up in smoke.” Unlike the other offerings where parts of the animal were saved as food for the priests, the entirety of this offering went up in smoke as a “pleasing aroma to the LORD” (Lev. 1:9).

The animal selected for the whole burnt offering had to be a male without defect. This was costly; the most valuable animal in the herd. The sacrifice felt like a sacrifice. Moreover, the person bringing the sacrifice would place his hand on the head of the animal, signifying a symbolic transfer of guilt for sins (cf. Num. 27:15–23; Deut. 34:9). The burnt offering would be accepted in place of the Israelite who brought it.

But if you read ahead in Leviticus, you’ll discover other offerings given for sins. So which sins did the whole burnt offering cover?

In Leviticus 4 and 5, we see the sin offering was given to decontaminate sinners and cover their sins of commission; we also see trespass offerings were given to make reparation between the sinner and God. This leaves the burnt offering to cover sins of omission.

What About Our Sins of Omission Today?

In his teaching, Jesus gave us several examples of sins of omission: whatever we ought to do for the least of these, like giving food or water to the hungry or thirsty, taking in strangers, clothing the naked, taking care of the sick, and visiting those in prison (Matt. 25:35–40). We commit sins of omission when we fail to care for our neighbor. But as Jesus said, loving God and others is more important than even the burnt offering (Mark 12:33).

Just as in the Old Testament, there’s a sacrifice for our sins of omission today. Wait, put down the knife—the answer isn’t a new burnt offering. Hebrews teaches us that the Levitical offerings—including the whole burnt offering—were provisional for God’s people, that the blood of bulls and goats could never finally take away sins (Heb. 10:1–4). The Israelites offered the burnt offering over and over and over (v. 11).

By offering these sacrifices God required, Old Testament believers did reveal their faith. But the Old Testament sacrifices weren’t in themselves able to cover moral transgressions and assuage God’s holy wrath against sin. They needed a better burnt offering.

The Greek word used to translate “whole burnt offering” in the Septuagint occurs twice in the New Testament. One instance is Mark 12:33 (referenced above). The second is found in Hebrews 10:6–8. There we see that God sent his Son, Jesus Christ, as the once-for-all-time sacrifice his people needed (v. 10). We’re saved from our sins of both omission and commission through faith in Christ’s precious blood .

Offer Yourself to Christ as a Living Sacrifice

Jesus the burnt offering who enables us to wholly delight in obedience to God. The Levitical burnt offering pointed Israel forward to the day their Messiah would come and make a way for true and final forgiveness. Israel was forgiven on credit as they looked forward in faith to the Savior who’d one day pay the full punishment due for their sins. Today, God’s people are saved on debit because the price has already been paid.

We’re saved from our sins of both omission and commission through faith in the precious blood of Christ.

And because Christians are fully forgiven, we can now offer ourselves to God as living sacrifices (Rom. 12:1). This means actively choosing to use our giftings for God’s service instead of neglecting them or using them for selfish motives (vv. 3–8). It means walking in Christian love, repenting from sin, purposefully rejecting evil , and putting on persistent prayer and care for others (vv. 9–21).

You can practice repenting from sins of omission by making it a point to take action, perhaps by having a neighbor over for a meal, giving an older saint a ride to church, or setting aside intentional time for prayer. As Paul writes in Ephesians 5:2, “Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”

Is there enough evidence for us to believe the Gospels?

Paul Woodburn is the pastor of Community Fellowship Church in Lawrenceburg, Indiana; an adjunct professor of ethics at Ivy Tech; and a doctoral candidate at Liberty University. He and his wife, Whitney, have two children, Reagan and Titus. You can follow him on X .

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“Her Future Sunshine”: The Blossoming of Faith, Hope, and Charity in the Life of Anne Elliot

By Monica Colon

Live Oak Classical School, Waco, TX Mentor : Alyssan Barnes

Division: High School

Place: 1st Place

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2018 Essay Contest — Winning Entries

Morality, Virtues, Ethics ›  

What are the makings of a good marriage? What sort of character is required of husband and wife? How can a person grow in her virtue to be better suited for marriage? Jane Austen’s Persuasion follows the progression of faith, hope, and charity in its protagonist, Anne Elliot, to explore these questions. Anne begins with the seeds of these virtues, but time causes them to bloom into true virtues that she can take into her marriage.

The trio of faith, hope, and charity comes from Christian theology; they are the so-called “theological virtues.” Persuasion itself is not an explicitly religious novel, but it does presume a world with moral standards, with characters clearly displaying both vice and virtue. Therefore, the definitions of the theological virtues offered here share this view of morality. Virtues are habits of ethical behavior, usually understood to be means between two vices. For example, generosity is a halfway point between miserliness and prodigality, and courage is the mean between cowardice and rashness. But the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love differ, for rather than being the temperate choice between two extremes, one can never have too much of them. Faith is placing one’s trust in an authority, whether that be oneself or another person. In other words, faith is choosing someone in whom to believe. Confidence, or the persistent belief in something despite all odds, is more impulsive than true faith, but may grow into a virtue given time; confidence is the seedling form of faith. Hope is trusting that something good may come out of acting on faith, even if one cannot see the good immediately. Although hope is often confused with optimism, optimism is not a mature virtue. Optimism blindly expects everything in one’s life to be pleasurable, but hope involves perseverance through suffering. Hope may grow from optimism, however, when optimism does not crumble in the face of hardship.

The last theological virtue, charity, is selfless love for someone else, often undeserved. There are two misconceptions one tends to fall into when defining charity. Charity is not philanthropy, or the giving of one’s possessions and income. Certainly charity may inspire philanthropy, but the two are not equivalent. Charity may also be confused with the warm affectionate feeling one has towards people that one both likes and loves. Affection is not the selfless love of charity, although it accompanies charity at times and may serve as a foundation on which to build it. True charity is a commitment to someone, and, like hope, it can be exhausting. Just as confidence matures into faith and optimism into hope, affection becomes charity when it endures trials.

With these definitions in mind, a careful reader can discern the development of faith, hope, and charity in Anne Elliot. At age nineteen, Anne possesses the three theological virtues in their nascent forms, but she misdirects her faith and hope when she ends her engagement to Captain Frederick Wentworth. Persuasion follows Anne’s journey to rebuild her faith and hope through charity, culminating in a marriage that exemplifies the theological virtues.

Eight years before the main conflict of Persuasion begins, Anne meets Captain Frederick Wentworth and is soon engaged to him, despite his lack of fortune and connections (Austen 25-26). Frederick anticipates that he will soon grow rich, and Anne shares this expectation: “Such confidence, powerful in its own warmth… must have been enough for [her]” (26). Through Anne’s belief in her fiancé’s prediction, she has a “cheerful confidence in futurity” (29). Anne is young and in love, so this “cheerful confidence” resembles optimism more than the mature virtues of hope and faith. However, the reader has no reason to believe that her inclinations will not turn into true virtues after time tests them.

Not long into the engagement, Lady Russell persuades Anne to call it off. However, Lady Russell wins Anne’s faith only because Anne “imagine[s] herself consulting [Frederick’s] good, even more than her own” (27). Since Anne focuses on her fiancé’s well-being rather than hers, she shows that her love is not mere affection, but true charity, for she is willing to sacrifice her desires for the good of another. It may seem that Anne has lost the other two theological virtues in giving up on her engagement, but these virtues have merely been diverted. The crucial point is that Anne has a great deal of trust to give to others, but none for herself; she relinquishes her belief in Frederick and submits to Lady Russell’s verdict, hoping that time will ease the pain of breaking the engagement. She retains charity, but she places her faith and hope not in herself and her marriage, but in Lady Russell and remaining single for the time being.

This hope, however, is not fulfilled. When the novel’s plot begins eight years later, Frederick is a successful young officer: “All his sanguine expectations, all his confidence ha[ve] been justified” (29). Time has proven Lady Russell’s fears unfounded, and Anne has spent eight lonely years with no reason to believe that Frederick still loves her. Yet throughout the whole ordeal, Anne’s charity has remained constant. She loves Frederick both at the beginning of their engagement and after its end (19, 25). She has even maintained a love for Lady Russell, despite disagreeing with her (28). It is this charity that sets up the action of Persuasion , allowing Anne to grow as a person, learning to put faith and hope in their proper places.

The bulk of the novel follows the ways in which unshakable charity becomes the foundation for restoring faith to Anne. Every day at Uppercross, Anne shows charity to Mary and the other members of Mary’s circle. When Anne first arrives there, Mary scarcely thanks her for coming and complains of her own troubles (38). Anne nevertheless treats her sister kindly, with “[a] little farther perseverance in patience, and forced cheerfulness on Anne’s side” that “produce[s] nearly a cure on Mary’s” (38). Here, the reader witnesses that Anne’s love for others runs deeper than has yet been shown. Lady Russell and Frederick have at least in some sense merited her affection; Lady Russell is a mother figure and loves Anne best of all the Elliots, while Frederick is a dashing, spirited young man who loved her when few others did. In contrast, Mary has nothing to recommend her to Anne, save their shared blood. Anne’s love for Mary is selfless, for Mary does not deserve it.

Soon, Mary, Charles, Mrs. Musgrove, and the Miss Musgroves, finding a sympathetic listener in Anne, ask her to mediate between themselves (45-46). In fact, she is “treated with too much confidence by all parties, …too much in the secret of the complaints of each house” (43). The word “confidence” here refers to confiding, but it may also mean “confidence” as in a form of faith. The two meanings are closely linked, for the Musgroves’ faith in Anne is the reason they confide in her. Anne further wins their trust with her cool head in times of crisis as she capably handles the injury of her nephew (52). By the time of Louisa’s accident, her patience and gentleness have earned her not only the trust of the Musgroves, but also of Frederick. Both Charles Musgrove and Frederick “look to her [Anne] for directions” in the first moments after Louisa falls (108). As the group scrambles to settle the situation, Frederick recommends that Anne stay to nurse Louisa: “[There is] no one so proper, so capable as Anne!” (111). Later, Frederick consults her on how to break the news to the Musgroves (114). The trust that Anne has earned through charity culminates here, when Frederick expresses faith in her decisions three times. She takes this faith as “a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment” (114). This moment is a turning point in the way Anne views herself and her powers of discernment. Since Frederick now believes in Anne, Anne can trust her own inclinations. She can value her wisdom and capability as do all those around her, even the man she loves.

Now that Anne has proper faith in herself, she is transplanted to Bath, where her father and sister undervalue her. The first test of her growing faith arrives in the form of her cousin, Mr. Elliot. All of Bath loves Mr. Elliot, especially Anne’s circle, for “[v]arious as the tempers were in her father’s house, he pleased them all” (155). Lady Russell is especially taken with him, and nothing could delight her more than his marriage to Anne (155). Mr. Elliot is a perfect gentleman, wants to marry Anne, and has Lady Russell’s support, but Anne cannot shake an uneasy feeling about him: “Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character” (154). Even though Anne is under pressure to accept Mr. Elliot, she stands firm in her conviction about his character (188). Nineteen-year-old Anne Elliot may have been persuaded into making this seemingly agreeable match, but twenty-eight-year-old Anne trusts her instinct against him.

This faith in herself is confirmed through charity, when Mrs. Smith reveals Mr. Elliot’s true character (190-202). Throughout her stay in Bath, Anne has visited her friend Mrs. Smith, although Mrs. Smith is poor, sickly, and without connections. Sir Walter is baffled as to why Anne should choose to maintain this friendship, when Anne can gain nothing from it: “Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste! Everything that revolts other people… [is] inviting to you” (151). Nevertheless, Anne persists in this relationship. Although she seeks nothing in return from her friend, Anne’s selfless love does end up rewarding her when Mrs. Smith confirms her doubts about Mr. Elliot. Once again, Anne’s charity leads to an affirmation of her discernment, allowing Anne to place more faith in herself.

Now that Anne’s charity has given her faith in her own judgment, she is able to hope that acting on faith may lead to beneficial results. She no longer tries to ignore her feelings for Frederick; in fact, she talks herself into acting on them. When she first sees him in Bath outside a shop window, she decides to place herself near the door, scolding herself for wanting to hang back: “One half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was” (168). Anne has already realized that she is the prudent, sensible young woman that others believe her to be and that she ought to do herself justice by trusting her own judgment. Here, she finally acts on her faith, showing that hope has begun to return to her life. This faith is not rash or conceited, however. Soon afterward, the reader sees Anne reflecting on her limitations. Although Anne “hope[s] she [will] be wise and reasonable in time; …alas! alas! she must confess to herself that she [is] not wise yet” (171). Anne does not think that she has suddenly become omniscient; she recognizes that she has room to grow. This accurate assessment of her own ability proves that her faith is a mature virtue, not a blind, over-confident whim.

Anne’s growing hope again manifests itself at the concert, where she seeks conversation with Frederick. When they first meet, he is “preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle ‘How do you do?’ [brings] him out of the straight line to stand near her, and make enquiries in return” (174). Anne has a gentle, unassertive character, but she takes a leap of faith to make this “little advance… in spite of the formidable father and sister in the back ground” (174). By refusing to let Frederick ignore her, Anne shows both faith in herself and hope for a renewal of their relationship. She analyzes their conversation, concluding with a thrill that “[h]e must love her” (178). When an agitated Frederick leaves the concert early, Anne determines “the only intelligible motive” to be “[j]ealousy of Mr. Elliot” (183). At last, faith has brought hope back to Anne, and she is able to believe that she may have another chance with Frederick.

When Frederick and Anne do renew their promises to one another, the hope that has been budding between them finally blooms. Anne learns from Frederick that she is not the only one who has had the theological virtues restored to her; Frederick, too, has begun to hope, corrected his faith, and reawakened his charity. In his letter, Frederick writes that he is “half agony, half hope” (229). This description shows that Frederick’s hope is a legitimate virtue, not merely naïve optimism, because suffering has not driven him to give it up. He explains to Anne his misplaced faith in an unpersuadable character, rectified after Louisa’s accident, when “he had learned to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind” (233). With his faith renewed, Frederick realizes his constant love for Anne, and he takes action as soon as he discovers he is not honor-bound to marry Louisa (234). Charity for one another has moved Frederick and Anne to act on faith. Now at last, they can have the marriage for which they hardly dared to hope.

Anne has gained all three theological virtues over the course of the novel, preparing her for a marriage that demonstrates faith, hope, and charity. In fact, Anne’s faith in her own judgment is so strong that she still maintains that she was correct in following Lady Russell’s counsel against their marriage all those years earlier (237). Frederick disagrees, but their mutual love prevents this difference from coming between them; Frederick even admits that he “trust[s] to being in charity with [Lady Russell] soon” (237). Although Anne and Frederick have not put their faith in exactly the same place, their charity and respect for one another allows them to have a loving relationship. This love overflows to others as well; Anne’s marriage, “instead of depriving [Mrs. Smith] of one friend, [has] secured her two” (242). Anne and Frederick do not allow their love to cut them off from the rest of the world. Instead, it spills over and helps them show kindness to others.

But their marriage does not erase their problems, for Frederick is still in the navy, and for Anne, “the dread of future war [is] all that can dim her future sunshine” (243). This chastening memento mori adds a complex note to the couple’s “sunshine” of hope. It again differentiates the theological virtue of hope from optimism, for this hope may not always be easy.

Nineteen-year-old Anne Elliot possesses embryonic forms of the theological virtues, but her faith and hope are diverted when she is persuaded to end her engagement. Afterward, she carries a foundation of charity into the main conflict of the novel, causing the Musgroves—and later Frederick—to trust her; when Frederick places faith in her judgment, she does so as well. This faith allows Anne to persist in her mistrust of Mr. Elliot, which is confirmed thanks to her charity toward Mrs. Smith. Ultimately, faith gives Anne hope to renew her relationship with Frederick, and the novel closes with a marriage that typifies the theological virtues.

Thus Austen seems to offer answers to the questions posed by the narrative: good marriages are comprised of those whose virtues blossom when they are tested. But just as life presents no easy solutions, so Austen does not end her novel with the “cheerful confidence in futurity” of Anne and Frederick’s earlier engagement (29). No doubt, the theological virtues will be tried throughout the Wentworths’ married life, but now that they are braided together in the characters of Anne and Frederick, their marriage looks ahead with a tenuous hope, strengthened by resilient faith and deep charity.

Works Cited

• Austen, Jane. Persuasion . Barnes and Noble Classics, 2003.

About JASNA

The Jane Austen Society of North America is dedicated to the enjoyment and appreciation of Jane Austen and her writing. JASNA is a nonprofit organization, staffed by volunteers, whose mission is to foster among the widest number of readers the study, appreciation, and understanding of Jane Austen’s works, her life, and her genius.  We have over 5,000 members of all ages and from diverse walks of life. Although most live in the United States or Canada, we also have members in more than a dozen other countries.

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187 Hope Essay Topics: Ideas for Definition Essays, Literature Papers & More

Hope is a topic that has been discussed throughout philosophy’s history and in all Western philosophical traditions. It plays a vital role in every aspect of human life, such as religion, politics, and relationships. Hope also enables people to handle events with a mindset encouraging them to look ahead enthusiastically and positively.

In this article, our expert team has collected creative and catchy hope titles for essays that will come in handy!

• 🔝 Top 10 Hope Essays Topics

✍️ Hope Essay Prompts

• 🔤 Definition Essay on Hope
• 🙏 Essay on Hope and Faith

📚 Hope Essay Topics for Papers on Literature

🕊️ more great titles about hope, 📝 essay on hope: outline, 🔗 references, 🔝 top 10 hope essay topics.

• The philosophy of hope.
• The impact of hope on society.
• Why is the concept of hope important?
• Hope from a psychological perspective.
• Why do hope and anxiety accompany each other?
• Hope in Kant’s studies.
• The cross as a symbol of hope.
• Hope: personal experience.
• How not to lose hope?
• Example of hope in literature.

Have you ever felt a lack of inspiration when writing a school or college essay about hope? Not this time! We have prepared creative essay prompts that will aid you in receiving the highest grades!

Is Hope a Blessing or a Curse: Essay Prompt

The Greeks considered hope the most harmful of all evils because it hindered people from accepting their fate. In addition, hope is concerned with what has not yet occurred. So, it is natural that the higher our hopes for the future, the greater our disappointment when they are unmet.

On the other hand, research finds that people are more likely to accomplish their goals when they have hope. In your essay, you can provide the advantages and disadvantages of having hope, analyze them, and come to a conclusion.

Prompt for Essay about Faith, Hope, and Love

Faith, hope, and love are central to Christianity. Some Christian churches consider them theological virtues , each reflecting principles that define humanity’s relationship with God. In your essay about faith, hope, and love, you can focus on the following aspects:

• The role of these 3 virtues in religion.
• Importance of faith, hope, and love in everyday life.
• The example of faith, hope, and love from your experience, a film, or a book.
• Key verses about these virtues in the Bible.

What Gives You Hope for the Future: Essay Prompt

Hope might be among the most challenging things to find in terrible circumstances, but one must cling to it when things get bad. Being hopeful means believing in a better tomorrow, even if today everything goes wrong.

If you need help determining what gives you hope for the future, consider these tips:

• Think about the ups and downs that you have experienced.
• Try to find things that make you happy and inspired.
• Create a list of items you are thankful for and explain why.
• Look for some stories of hopeful people or ask friends to share their experiences.

Why Is Hope Important: Essay Prompt

Hope is one of the most powerful emotions since it urges people to keep going regardless of what happens in their lives. It also provides motivation to pursue goals, no matter how difficult or unattainable they seem, and fosters a positive attitude toward daily issues.

To highlight the importance of hope, find the answers to the following questions:

• How does hope help people overcome difficulties?
• Why is hope one of the greatest motivators?
• What is the impact of hope on mental health?
• Why is hope a strength and protective factor?

🔤 Definition Essay on Hope: Topic Ideas

A definition essay aims to thoroughly explain a specific concept. If you’re looking for ideas for your definition essay on hope, here are some topics to consider:

• What is the definition of hope in psychology?
• The essence of hope in Christianity .
• Hope in Hinduism as a concept of desire and wish.
• The focus of hope on economic and social empowerment in culture.
• What does the term hope mean in Judaism ?
• Hope in literature as a motivating force for change in the plot.
• How can hope be defined in the healthcare industry?
• Hope as the perceived capability to derive pathways to desired goals.
• How did ancient people define hope?
• Barack Obama’s psychology of hope: definition and peculiarities.
• The emotional competency of hope in the modern world.
• How do different cultures define and value the concept of hope?
• The role of hope in art: from ancient to modern times.
• The interpretation and explanation of hope by different philosophical currents .
• How is the concept of hope reflected in the works of different eras and genres?
• The impact of AI technology on the perception and expression of hope.
• Hope in the educational process: features.
• How has the understanding of hope changed over history?
• The relationship between the concept of hope and a general sense of happiness .
• Hope in religious beliefs and its manifestations in believers’ behaviors.

🙏 Essay on Hope and Faith: Interesting Topics

Faith and hope are closely interrelated concepts. If you need to write an essay on hope and faith, check out our writing ideas:

• The link between faith and hope in psychiatry.
• Three Faiths: Buddhism, Shintoism, and Bahai Religion .
• How do faith and hope help people to deal with uncertainty?
• The influence of hope and faith on mental health.
• Hope and faith as a foundation for religious practice and rituals .
• Health Care Provider and Faith Diversity .
• What is the difference between faith and hope?
• The role of hope and faith in the healing process .
• Hope and faith as a source of moral values.
• Christian Faith and Psychology: Allies Model .
• How does faith nurture and sustain hope?
• The nature of faith and hope in different cultures .
• European and Greek Heritage and Health Beliefs .
• Hope and faith from a philosophical perspective.
• The influence of hope and faith on the decision-making process.
• How do religious communities promote hope and faith?
• Religious Beliefs and Political Decisions .
• Religious hope and faith in the context of a personal tragedy.
• Hope and faith: the role in driving social change.
• Social Influence and Its Effects on People’s Beliefs and Behavior .
• The role of hope and faith in overcoming depression and anxiety disorders.
• What do hope and faith have in common?
• Political Beliefs in Changing Leadership .
• The thin line between hope and faith in oncology.
• Religious hope and faith as a source of the meaning of life.
• How Beliefs Can Shape a Person’s Reality .
• Why is hope so important to our faith?
• The evolution of faith and hope in human life.

Bible Study Questions on Hope

• Why, according to the Bible , hope is not a fleeting feeling?
• What messages of hope are present in the Book of Hebrews?
• Marriage and the Family: The Biblical Ideal & Modern Practice .
• What does the Book of Romans say about hope?
• How does the Psalmist convey hope in the face of adversity and uncertainty?
• What role does hope play in the teachings of Proverbs?
• Similarities in Family Values: The Aeneid and the Bible .
• How does the Bible teach us to be confident in our hope?
• What is the connection between hope and repentance in the Book of Lamentations?
• Why does true hope come as a gift by trusting God ?
• Relation Between God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit .
• Which stories from the Bible can help us learn more about hope?
• How does the book of Psalms use poetic language to express feelings of hope?
• The Nature of God, Humanity, Jesus, and Salvation .
• What role does hope play in the teachings of Jesus?
• How does the concept of hope relate to the idea of forgiveness in the Bible?
• How does Noah’s story with the flood illustrate the notion of hope?
• Several Theological Perspectives in the Understanding of the Bible, Its Interpretation and Issues .
• What lessons about hope may be derived from the Israelites’ experiences in the desert?
• How does the Book of Revelation present a vision of ultimate hope?

Are you searching for hope essay titles in literature ? In the sections below, you’ll find topics about this theme in the poem “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers and other literary works.

Hope Is the Thing with Feathers Essay: Topic Ideas

• “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers as a hymn of praise to hope.
• The power of hope as a key idea in the poem.
• “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers: critical features of the poetic tone.
• The metaphor of hope in Emily Dickinson’s poem .
• Hope as a feathered creature in the poem.
• The concept of hope in “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers.
• Why does Dickinson represent hope in her poem as a living thing?
• The symbolism of feathers in the poem “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers.
• The abstract form of hope by Dickinson: the use of imagery and figurative language .
• Soul as a hope’s home in”Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers.
• How does Dickinson describe the paradoxical nature of hope in her poem?
• The use of poetic devices in “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers.
• The impact of Dickinson’s poem on readers’ perceptions of hope.
• Dickinson’s “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers: comparison of hope and despair.
• The peculiarities of “Hope” Is the Thing with Feathers title.

Hope Theme in Literature: More Essay Titles

• The Diary of Anne Frank: how hope saved lives during the Holocaust.
• The theme of hope in Louis’s journey in Hillenbrand’s Unbroken .
• The power of hope in the face of difficulty in A Raisin in the Sun.
• How does the author convey the idea of hope in Jane Eyre?
• Orwell’s 1984: The theme of lost hope for the future.
• Disillusionment of hope in The Great Gatsby .
• “Hope” by Emily Bronte as a poetic interpretation of hope.
• The American Dream in the Play “Death of a Salesman.”
• The nature of hope in One Hundred Years of Solitude.
• Night by Elie Wiesel : the concept of hope as a lifeline.
• How is the theme of hope highlighted in Life of Pi?
• Hemingway’s works and their connection with hope in the face of adversity.
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee: the hope for justice and equality.
• The value of hope and humanity in All Quiet on the Western Front.
• Romeo and Juliet: hope’s vulnerability in a world of quarreling families.
• How does The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry reveal the various perspectives of hope?
• The impact of hope on humanity’s future.
• How does hope help people cope with mental and physical disorders ?
• Personal Beliefs. Thought Control .
• Loss of hope: practical methods and strategies to stay motivated.
• The role of hope in students’ academic achievement .
• Hope as a source of energy and a positive mindset.
• The impact of hope on creativity in art and literature.
• Restoring Hope Counselling Home for Youth .
• How can hope assist in raising children?
• Hope as an instrument of adaptation to changes in modern society.
• Emotional regulation through hope: strategies and effectiveness.
• Supernaturalism: The Existence of God and the Meaning of a Human Life .
• How does hope aid in social progress and prosperity?
• The efficiency of hope in goal achievement.
• The Five Pillars of Islam and Its Major Teachings .
• How do people stay hopeful in the face of uncertainty?
• The influence of hope in business and entrepreneurship.
• Hope as a powerful motivator in conflict resolution .
• The relationship between hope and stress management.
• The Crucifixion of Jesus Christ .
• Hope and its influence on the development of emotional intelligence.
• How does hope affect the ethical issues of technological development ?
• The value of hope in the maintenance of positive family relations.
• The role of hope in sports achievements and overcoming difficulties.
• Positive Reinforcement Concepts Discussion .
• Hope as a factor in maintaining environmental awareness and responsibility.
• Hope and its impact on adaptation to technological innovations.
• Reason and Religious Belief. An Introduction to The Philosophy of Religion’ by M. Peterson .
• The influence of hope on the formation and maintenance of healthy habits.
• Hope as a source of recovery in medical practices.
• Positive Self-Talk and Its Impact on Athletes .
• The role of hope in the creation of a positive working environment.
• The influence of hope on the development of professional reputation and success .
• How do we use hope for financial stability?
• Argumentative Essay: I Have a Good Life .
• The relationship between hope and the ability to creatively solve problems.
• What role does hope play in the social integration of migrants and refugees ?
• The use of hope as a driving force in the formation of psychological stability.
• Managing Self-Defeating Thoughts .
• How does hope drive effective leadership and teamwork?

Hopes and Dreams Essay: Topic Ideas

• The economy of dreams: hope in global capitalism and its critiques.
• How did COVID-19 impact Australians’ hopes and dreams?
• The impact of drug addiction on people’s ability to hope and dream.
• American Dream and its Drawbacks .
• Hopes and dreams: common and distinctive qualities.
• The contribution of hopes and dreams to a sense of purpose.
• Sociology of Religion: Purpose and Concept .
• The efficiency of music in conveying emotions related to hopes and dreams.
• How do different cultures perceive and prioritize hopes and dreams?
• I Have a Dream Speech by Martin Luther King .
• The role of hope and dream in classical literature.
• The psychological side of unfulfilled dreams and hopes.
• How do hopes and dreams change across various generations?
• The use of realism and idealism in pursuing hopes and dreams.
• How can hope and dreams help to overcome post-traumatic stress disorder ?
• The opportunities and obstacles teenagers face in pursuing their dreams and hopes.
• History: In Search of the American Dream .
• Childhood dreams and hopes and the development of adult identity.
• How do social media shape individuals’ hopes and dreams?

Ideas for an Essay on Youth Is Hope

• The pressure of high hopes for young people in the 21st century.
• How do role models aid in instilling hope in young individuals?
• Youth Involvement in Political Processes .
• Young people’s political activism as a source of public hope.
• The youth as a driving force of any country or culture.
• Impact of Information Technology on Youth Development .
• The role of youth in breaking stereotypes and fostering hope.
• Youth and international relations : hope for peace in the world.
• The potential of young political leaders to justify the hopes of society.
• Educational Program for Young Nurses .
• Youth and gender equality: hope for a future without discrimination.
• The role of young educators in creating a hopeful future for the next generation.
• Youth as the backbone of society and hope for a better life.
• Young Adulthood and Millennial Leadership .
• How does technological progress inspire youth to be more hopeful?
• Environmental activism of young people: creating hope for a sustainable future.
• Youth as hope for creating solidarity and respect in society .
• Is it justified to place high hopes on the youth?
• Youth and inclusiveness: hope for the future of equal opportunities.

Wondering how to structure your essay about hope? Leave it to us! Here is a perfect outline of a hope essay for students with examples!

Hope Essay Introduction

The introduction gives your reader a clear picture of what your essay will address. It should include some background information on your problem and proposed solution.

Take these steps to create a perfect introduction:

• Start with an attention-grabbing hook .
• Provide some background information.
• Narrow the scope of your discussion.
• Identify your position.
• Outline the framework of your essay.

Thesis Statement about Hope

A thesis statement is a short sentence that introduces your paper’s argument to the reader. Here’s how to write it:

• Collect the evidence to back up your argument.
• Think of the significance of the facts you have found.
• Formulate your stance on the issue in one sentence.
• Make adjustments as needed.

The thesis statement is usually the last sentence of your introduction. Look at an example of how it might look:

Although it is impossible to stop yourself from hoping, it can become problematic when that hope turns into a delusion.

Essay about Hope: Body Paragraphs

The essay’s body is where you thoroughly explore your point of view. Each body paragraph should have one main idea or argument supported by examples and evidence. The structure of your body paragraph should look the following way:

• Topic sentence.
• Supporting evidence.
• The link to the next paragraph.

Check out an example of a body paragraph containing all these elements:

[Topic sentence] Hope is one of the most significant and strong feelings that a person can experience. [Supporting evidence] It propels us ahead in life, gives us hope for the future, and generally helps us feel better about ourselves and our lives. Furthermore, hope enables us to continue living despite the difficulties we face in life. [Transition] Yet, there can be too much of a good thing, as overreliance on hope can leave one disappointed and defeated.

Essays on Hope: Conclusion

A conclusion brings together the essential concepts covered in the essay’s body. It includes 4 main components:

• Rephrased thesis statement.
• Summary of key arguments.
• The broader significance of the topic
• Prediction, recommendations, or call to action.

Here’s how a rephrased thesis might look:

To sum up, it is acceptable to spend some time in hope but not to live in it. Instead, people must live in reality, which is the only way to achieve results.

We hope that our creative and catchy hope titles for essays have been inspirational for you! Besides, you can use our free online topic generator for more ideas!

• Hope | The Church of Jesis Christ
• Hope | Desiring God
• Hope: Why It Matters | Harvard Health Publishing
• How Hope Can Keep You Happier and Healthier | Greater Good Magazine
• What is Hope and Why Is It So Crucial to Our Faith? | Bible Study Tools
• Philosophy of Hope | Springer Link
• Six Top Tips for Writing a Great Essay | The University of Melbourne
• Essay Writing | Purdue Online Writing Lab

333 Football Research Topics & Essay Titles

169 the lottery essay topics & questions for analysis and argumentative papers.

The views expressed on this site are the author's. The Markkula Center for Applied Ethics does not advocate particular positions but seeks to encourage dialogue on the ethical dimensions of current issues. The Center welcomes comments and alternative points of view .

Opinion: This Easter, hope is an act of will and a gesture of defiance

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In the 1960s, the Peace Corps ran an ad on TV and in countless magazines that showed a tumbler partially filled with water. Did you see the glass as half empty or half full? If you answered half full, the small print and the voice-over said, you were suited to the Peace Corps — that is, you viewed the world through a lens of hope rather than despair.

In this season of Easter, which Christians read as triumph over despair and death, we need to affirm the importance of hope, to find that half-full perspective.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul identified what have come to be regarded as the three theological virtues: faith, hope and love. Hope is the one that, over the centuries, has attracted the least attention.

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Faith — as in the impossibility of belief, the beauty of it or the simplicity of it — has received its due and more. And love (the greatest of the three virtues in St. Paul’s formulation), agape and eros, has been pondered and analyzed endlessly on greeting cards and in philosophical treatises, great literature and treacly rom-coms.

But what about hope?

If faith is a disposition of the spirit, and love is a disposition of the heart, hope is a disposition of the will. The workings of both faith and love are, to some degree, outside our ken, beyond our rational control. Hope, on the other hand, is volitional.

We can choose to be hopeful, even if faith is elusive and love distant.

Right now, making that choice isn’t easy.

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March 24, 2024

What’s easy is to be overwhelmed by despair, by hopelessness. Lord knows we have ample reasons: the ravages of climate change, the persistence of poverty, senseless death and destruction in Ukraine and the Mideast, the looming possibility of a second amoral administration headed by a pathological narcissist.

We worry about the high price of groceries, the obstinacy of racial disparities, the inertia of Congress, the self-dealing of Supreme Court justices, the proliferation of loopy conspiracy theories and the credulity of too many Americans. These are legitimate concerns, and the glass looks half empty.

On the other hand, wages and employment have risen. The United States remains an economic powerhouse and generally a force for good in the world. In January 2021, we withstood our most severe constitutional crisis since the Civil War. The wheels of justice turn slowly and sometimes a bit out of balance, but our democracy, imperfect as it is, so far has proven remarkably durable. The glass is half full.

There are reasons for hope, even though we must remain vigilant.

You don’t have to share the Christian belief in Bible stories to understand their message that hoping against hope and defying evil is humanity’s task. In the Hebrew Bible, Abraham and Sarah, both in their 90s or beyond, learn that they are about to have a child. In the New Testament, the blind man sees and the lame man kicks aside his crutches. Lazarus is coaxed out of his tomb even though his body had begun to stink. And Jesus, crucified, rises from the grave.

Easter summons us to hope, even when hope is counterintuitive, countercultural. We can will ourselves to see the glass half full. These days, to hope is both an act of volition and a gesture of defiance.

Randall Balmer, an Episcopal priest, teaches at Dartmouth College and is the author of “Passion Plays: How Religion Shaped Sports in North America.”

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How to Write the Santa Clara University Essays 2020-2021

We’ve updated this post! Read the  2021-2022 Santa Clara essay guide .

Located on a beautiful 106-acre campus in Silicon Valley, Santa Clara University combines Jesuit values with the pursuit of technological innovation. Founded in 1851, Santa Clara is comprised of three undergraduate schools: the College of Arts and Sciences, the School of Engineering, and the Leavey School of Business. In total, more than 50 majors and minors are offered across the three schools. Santa Clara encourages students to seek academic excellence while searching for truth, goodness, and beauty through the Jesuit, Catholic tradition. 

With an 11:1 faculty ratio, Santa Clara’s approximately 5,500 undergraduate students are able to experience small class sizes and receive individualized assistance from professors . Additionally, undergraduate students are given the opportunity to gain first-hand research experience. These opportunities prepare students for future internships and careers. In fact, because of their close proximity to campus, companies such as Google, Apple, NVIDIA, and Cisco often recruit students from Santa Clara.

Santa Clara also has 20 Division I sports teams as well as 17 club teams. These teams offer Santa Clara’s students the opportunity to pursue both their academic interests and athletic aspirations.

In addition to its undergraduate schools, Santa Clara has several graduate schools ranging from the School of Law to the Jesuit School of Theology. These schools provide Santa Clara students with opportunities to potentially extend their education beyond their undergraduate experience.

Santa Clara University is ranked #54 by U.S. News and World Report and had an acceptance rate of 50% for the Class of 2024. As with many other schools, your supplemental essays are an excellent way to demonstrate your interest in Santa Clara and make your application stand out to admissions officers. 

In this post, we’ll discuss how to write strong supplemental essays to improve your chances of acceptance. Want to know your chances at Santa Clara? Calculate your chances for free right now.

Santa Clara University Supplemental Essay Prompts

Prompt 1: Briefly describe what prompted you to apply to Santa Clara University. If you have had the opportunity to visit campus or experienced Santa Clara virtually, please share your impression of SCU. (100-200 words)

Prompt 2: Driven by the Jesuit values outlined in our mission statement, Santa Clara University promises to educate citizens and leaders of competence, conscience, and compassion. We strive to cultivate knowledge and faith to build a more humane, just, and sustainable world. How do you plan to live out and implement these values in your own life to create a more equitable society? (150-300 words)

Briefly describe what prompted you to apply to Santa Clara University. If you have had the opportunity to visit campus or experienced Santa Clara virtually, please share your impression of SCU. (100-200 words)

Santa Clara’s first prompt falls under the common “ Why This College? ” category. In order to fully answer this prompt, you need to describe not only the reasons for your application, but also your impression of Santa Clara. Since you have a limit of only 200 words, it is important that you focus your essay on the aspects of Santa Clara that appeal most to you. 

The first step in answering this prompt is to do your research; the school’s website is a great starting point. What clubs, activities, classes, organizations, or programs really pique your interest?

Refrain from mentioning general aspects of the school that could apply to many other colleges. Dive deeper! For instance, rather than saying you like SCU for their business program, say you want to engage in the Initiative for Women’s Economic Empowerment (IWEE), whose goal is to “ accelerate economic empowerment of women leaders in Silicon Valley, STEM disciplines, and in the developing world as social entrepreneurs.”  

Be sure to also connect the resource you mention to your personal goals. Anyone can name unique SCU resources, but you want to underline who these opportunities support your ambitions. For the above example, a student who has campaigned to address women’s unpaid labor would be a natural fit with that resource. 

Next, take some time to reflect on Santa Clara’s values and why they appeal to you. Take time to read Santa Clara’s mission, vision, and values on their website and ask yourself these questions:

• Which of these values speak most to me?
• Why am I a good fit for Santa Clara’s community?
• How will these values contribute to my education and college experience?

While you don’t need to deliberately answer each of these questions in your essay, it is important to consider them when crafting your response to this prompt. Maybe you were very involved in the Jesuit church in your hometown and want to continue exploring your Catholic identity in college. Or, perhaps Santa Clara’s commitment to students and engaged learning will allow you to thrive off having close connections with specific professors whose research you’re interested in. Or, maybe you’re passionate about technology and Santa Clara’s devotion to innovation will enable you to continue pursuing your passion for a particular technological niche. Remember to use the values you pick, whatever they may be, as opportunities to connect yourself with Santa Clara’s community. 

Lastly, you need to share your impression of Santa Clara based on the experiences you’ve had with the campus. Whether they were virtual or in person, this is the place to include any notable experiences you’ve had with Santa Clara students or faculty. While avoiding the general discussion of information sessions or campus tours, you should certainly discuss a memorable conversation, class, meeting, or experience you had either virtually or in person. 

Not only should you discuss the memorable event or experience, but also how it shaped your view of Santa Clara. For instance, your discussion with a tour guide about her positive experience with small classes in the philosophy department left you with the impression that Santa Clara prioritizes effective learning environments for their students. Whatever your experiences have been, be sure to connect them to an aspect of Santa Clara that appeals to you!

Driven by the Jesuit values outlined in our mission statement, Santa Clara University promises to educate citizens and leaders of competence, conscience, and compassion. We strive to cultivate knowledge and faith to build a more humane, just, and sustainable world. How do you plan to live out and implement these values in your own life to create a more equitable society? (150-300 words)

In this prompt, you are being asked to connect your own values with those of Santa Clara. By creating this connection, you are demonstrating to the admissions officers that you belong on Santa Clara’s campus and that you would be a great fit for their community. 

Before you even start writing, revisit Santa Clara’s mission, vision, and values as well as their Jesuit Catholic Tradition . Then, make a list of two to three of the values that you feel apply most to your life. Maybe Santa Clara’s belief that “everyone is welcome” resonates with you. Or, perhaps you are drawn to Santa Clara’s combination of morals and ethics with academics. Or, maybe you are community-driven and relate to Santa Clara’s commitment to serving others. It does not matter which values you choose to focus on; just keep in mind that you will need to connect them to your own life.

The next step in answering this prompt is to discuss how you have already implemented Santa Clara’s values in your own life. For instance, maybe you’ve implemented the values of fairness and inclusivity through your volunteer work for the National Organization for Women. While it is important to describe the way you implement Santa Clara’s values, it is equally important to explain how you have used them to create a more equitable society. Continuing with the example above, volunteering for the National Organization for Women allows you to advocate for feminism and eliminate gender-based discrimination in order to promote equality for women. 

You may feel you don’t have an elaborate example of how you have exemplified Santa Clara’s values in the past; however, even the most simple examples will work. No one is expecting you to have initiated national or even state-wide change — you just need to demonstrate how you have made an effort to promote these values in your local environment. For example, you can certainly explain how you embrace Santa Clara’s value of sustainability by the educational campaign you created on composting for your school.

Lastly, you need to discuss how you plan to continue implementing Santa Clara’s values in your own life. In this portion of your essay, it is important to not only address your bigger-picture goals, but also how you’ll work to create a more equitable society at Santa Clara. Research the social justice movements, clubs, community service opportunities, and organizations that exist on Santa Clara’s campus or in the surrounding area. For instance, a student focused on compassion and serving others might join Santa Clara’s Camp Kesem, which provides children who have parents diagnosed with cancer a “supportive, lifelong camp community that recognizes and understands their unique needs.”

Conclude your response with a future-facing sentiment that explains how you plan to use these values after graduating from SCU. Perhaps you plan to implement the value in your future career, or the way you parent. This final detail should be integrated with your previous statements about how you live out this value, and provide the closure necessary to round out your essay.

Want help with your college essays to improve your admissions chances? Sign up for your free CollegeVine account and get access to our essay guides and courses. You can also get your essay peer-reviewed and improve your own writing skills by reviewing other students’ essays.

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Pepperdine University 2023-24 Supplemental Essay Prompt Guide

Regular Decision Deadline: Jan 15

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Pepperdine University 2023-24 Application Essay Question Explanations

The Requirements: 1 essay of 300-500 words

Supplemental Essay Type(s): Community , Why

Pepperdine is a Christian university where all are welcomed and encouraged to challenge each other in the pursuit of truth. Students, faculty, and staff members from all backgrounds participate in conversations of faith inside and outside of the classroom. Considering that Pepperdine is a Christian university, why are you interested in attending and how would you contribute to conversations of faith on campus?

Given the faith-forward nature of this question and of the university website, we imagine that most of you folks reading this guide probably already have a few thoughts on this question. We’d be surprised if the religious affiliation didn’t factor into your decision to apply, but if you haven’t thought about it, now is your chance to reflect on what you’re looking for from this university, and what they will gain from having you on campus! Writing about faith is just as personal (if not more!) as any other topic you might cover on your college application, so don’t be afraid to dig deep. If you grew up in a traditional religious household, you probably have a treasure trove of experiences and stories to provide to admissions, but sometimes it’s hard to write about faith when it’s always been a given in your life. Whether your background is Christian, Hindu, or any other religion, can you think about why your faith has made you interested in attending Pepperdine? Maybe you’ve recently taken an interest in the lesser-known traditions of your faith and have adopted a practice of honoring elders by performing Bappa Jai Jai. Or, if religion wasn’t a huge part of your upbringing, what led you to take an interest in a Christian university? Perhaps you’ve more recently developed an interest in philosophy and ethics, and you think it would be valuable to study these topics in a religious context. Whether you consider yourself a religious person or not, faith is a central component of the Pepperdine education, and now is your chance to figure out how you’ll fit in. As a matter of fact, this is a Why essay mixed with a Community essay, so if you’re having trouble getting started, read through our general guides to kickstart your brainstorming!

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