Why Critical Realism?

Exploring the "so what?" of critical realism

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(This is the second part of a two-part miniseries on epistemology. For those who are new to the newsletter, just a little explanation: this and last week’s posts are a lot more heady and “academic” than my typical posts. So if you are getting my newsletter for the first time and find yourself a bit discouraged by how complicated you might find it, don’t get discouraged! They are typically a lot lighter.)

Last week we jumped into the deep end as I shared a long post about the epistemological framework known as “critical realism.” If you were able to stick with me through the end, or perhaps if you abandoned ship long before, you may have been asking, so what?

This week, I’d like to answer the so what? when it comes to critical realism, sharing a few reasons why I think it is critically important we employ such an approach when it comes to our claims about knowledge, truth, and—especially in my context—religion.

Just by way of reminder, a very trimmed-down explanation of critical realism goes something like this: critical realism maintains that objective reality truly does exist, but that we should be humble when it comes to our claims about the extent to which we fully grasp that objective reality.

And just to be explicit: in the religious context, critical realism would further encourage humility when it comes to our claims about the degree to which we fully grasp “what the Bible says.” (This is not at all to imply that we can’t have a high degree of confidence about our biblical interpretations; it’s just to encourage humility in conjunction with that confidence—or what I like to call a “humble confidence.”)

So why am I making such a big deal of this? Let me try to briefly explain the benefits I believe are on offer with critical realism:

1. Critical realism places our security on the right footing. I may be unique in this, but I sometimes get the impression that my security—my salvation, even—is largely dependent upon the degree to which I have certainty about the truthfulness of various propositional ideas. The messaging I have picked up along the way has essentially led me to believe that my security is dependent on correct theological belief, based on the right information. And any questions or doubts that might arise about such matters undermine my security, reflecting an unstable religious experience.

This model—which, I would propose, is largely a modern/Baconian model—places correct thinking and intellectual assent to right teaching as the condition for salvation and security.

This is especially true for theological systems that place great emphasis on the “end times,” where deception is a key concern. If I therefore want to remain strong and secure in the “last days,” I need to make sure I am certain in my intellectual beliefs and be absolutely sure that I am following the correct prophetic explanations and timelines, so I can be protected against deception.

But critical realism recognizes the limits to rational and intellectual certainty, thus pointing to where our true security and salvation reside: in the grace, mercy, and love of God (not that critical realism itself speaks about this uniquely-Christian idea; but this epistemology helps me put my confidence in the right place). If my salvation is dependent on reaching some intellectual finish-line, or some level of absolute intellectual certainty, then I don’t know if I will ever feel secure enough because I have discovered that my knowledge is limited and questions—and sometimes even doubt— frequently surface in my mind and heart (through little fault of my own).

I thus love how Lesslie Newbigin puts it, at the end of his magnificent book, Proper Confidence: Faith, Doubt, and Certainty in Christian Discipleship:

The confidence proper to a Christian is not the confidence of one who claims possession of demonstrable and indubitable knowledge. It is the confidence of one who had heard and answered the call that comes from the God through whom and for whom all things were made: “Follow me.”

The first time I read that quote, shared by a colleague of mine about six years ago, it was a “light-bulb” moment. And since then one of my favorite thoughts, which I repeat often, has become: my security is not based on being infallibly right but on being infinitely loved (you will hear me repeat this often). There’s a world of difference between the two.

2. Critical realism undermines exclusivism and judgmentalism. The modern/Baconian framework is prone to binary, black-and-white thinking—which implicitly promotes exclusivism. After all, using the Baconian Common Sense approach to knowledge, truth is obvious and easily attainable—which means that those who come to different conclusions or interpretations are being willfully obstinate and/or are denying what is clear and obvious. Since there is only one correct answer about any topic within the modern framework, which any “objective” person can grasp, it’s easy to slide into an “us vs. them” posture, encouraging exclusivism.

Critical realism, on the other hand, while not at all devolving into postmodernism, which ultimately denies that objective reality exists at all, allows for greater diversity of perspective, encouraging an attitude of humility and charity towards those who see things differently. Critical realism recognizes the tentative and incomplete nature of the interpretive task, encouraging greater inclusivity, which undermines judgmentalism.

I love how Aaron Edwards, who runs a juice bar and recovery center in Texas, puts it: “Once people get a little less sure of what they’re positive is true, it creates a little more graceful conversations.” And a more charitable community.

This is not at all to imply that critical realism requires complete pluralism, relativism, or the idea that “anything goes”—or that such is the first step on the slippery slope to these things. There will still be groups of people who divide themselves over differing perspectives, often based on convictions that they believe more closely align with objective reality as they understand it.

It’s just that, at the very least, those divisions will be characterized by greater grace, charity, and humility towards others who see things differently—less a “we’re right and you’re wrong” (and, perhaps, even in the extreme, a “you’re going to hell because you think that,” or “you’re lost because you believe that”), and more of a “these are our sincerely-held convictions which we believe reflect reality, but we assume the best of you and don’t begrudge you for your convictions which we do not share.”

There is, of course, an important caveat with this: when it comes to matters of life-or-death, and the well-being of third parties, it seems that there’s a place to be a little more black-and-white and dogmatic (e.g., when an adult is abusing a child right in front of your eyes or when one nation is invading another sovereign nation).

3. Critical realism places greater emphasis on the communal pursuit of truth. It’s very simple: if we all see only a part of the picture, then we need each other to see more of the picture. I don’t believe God has given any human being omniscience. No single human being knows everything—or knows everything about a single topic.

So we need each other.

The modern/Baconian framework glorified the individual. This is, arguably, the Enlightenment’s greatest legacy. Promising the ability to observe a topic or idea from a position of complete objectivity, the modern man believed he could, by himself, fully master or grasp truth. This was especially pronounced in the religious context, where the single, solitary preacher, sitting at his desk by candlelight, uncovering the deep mysteries of God on his own, epitomizes the modern, individualistic age.

There is, of course, a communitarianism which is equally dangerous—where the individual is denied and obliterated altogether. But critical realism takes the best of both worlds: it honors the individual but recognizes the limits of the individual perspective, encouraging collaboration. This, I believe, is critical in the religious context: we need each other in order to better grasp the divine and to understand Scripture.

Simply put, the pursuit of truth is a team sport.

4. Critical realism is more missionally-attractive in post-religious and post-Baconian contexts. Simply put, Western society, where I live and minister at least, has moved beyond Baconianism. Sadly, much of conservative religion hasn’t. So instead of trying to argue people into faith because we possess indubitably-certain truth, we can learn to share our convictions with humility—speaking as subjects who have experienced rich, beautiful, and life-transforming truth. Mission thus becomes less prescription and more testimony.

Again, Aaron Edwards, in describing their missional posture: “We’re not trying to convince people what to believe. We’ve found what we believe and we’re asking ourselves what that looks like in the world.” Such a posture is extremely attractive, of course.

This is, to a large degree, what really drives me. I have a deep desire to engage the culture in ways that avoid elements that distract from the gospel. As Todd Engstrom has noted about the posture of a missionary: “A missionary is someone who sacrifices everything but the gospel, for the sake of the gospel.” I would put my attitude in this category. I don’t want my attitude—in this case, a dogmatic, black-and-white, indubitably-certain attitude— to distract people from the beauty and sufficiency of the gospel.

This all hit home for me a few years ago when I shared a book I’d written with an agnostic friend who was considering faith. I had written the book six or seven years earlier with the express intent of introducing non-Christians to the gospel. It was therefore a surprise when my friend, after reading it, said to me, “I liked it, but you wrote with too much certainty.”

At first the feedback stumped me, but over time I began to see: we live in an age when people in the West are extremely turned off by anything that hints of dogmatism, certainty, and black-and-white thinking—which, quite often, as mentioned above, has led to a toxic exclusivism, leading to tragic results, all in the name of (dogmatic) religion.

I’ve found this to be repeatedly true since having that conversation with my friend. In my many, many subsequent conversations, with lots of people who don’t share my biblical assumptions, I’ve noticed this is a common attitude in our post-Christian society—which is true, I’ve found, not only for those who don’t identify as Christians, but even for many Christians, both evangelical and otherwise, who have embraced, whether conscious or not, post-Baconian assumptions. (Incidentally, when I wrote the aforementioned book a decade or so ago, I probably had one or two non-Christian friends, at most, and yet I thought I knew how to write to such an audience.)

This doesn’t mean we have to surrender our confidence. It just means we put our confidence in the right place—in the Christian’s case, Jesus, rather than correct intellectual beliefs—which provides a much more peaceful and less caustic demeanor.

There’s a reason, after all, that the New Testament says we are saved by grace through faith­—not knowledge. The type of faith we embrace is not like a mathematical formula that we can prove scientifically. It’s a personal faith that doesn’t feel threatened by competing perspectives and claims. And this type of faith, resting on the grace of God rather than our absolute and indubitable certainty, is a lot more attractive to the post-Baconian mind.

So these are four reasons, among numerous others I could no doubt cite, that have convinced me that embracing critical realism provides a more faithful alignment with a Scripture-informed faith. It ultimately sets my religious house on a surer foundation: Christ—rather than being intellectually right. And that, in the end, gives me a better chance at being a safe and loving person for others as I seek to extend Christ-centered love and community to them.

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Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil student at the University of Oxford (what they call a PhD), focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram and Twitter, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.