Fideistic Christianity may look bold, but it is fragile.
When Paul wrote to the Corinthians, he staked Christianity on a single historical claim: “If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain” (1 Cor. 15:14). For Paul, the gospel was not a mood, a philosophy, or a private spirituality. It rose or fell on whether Jesus of Nazareth, crucified under Pontius Pilate, truly rose from the dead. Later, standing before King Agrippa, Paul pressed the same point: the death and resurrection of Jesus “was not done in a corner” (Acts 26:26).
That one statement strikes at the heart of fideism—the claim that faith can be justified apart from reason or evidence. Fideism sometimes boasts, “I don’t need reasons, I just believe.” Other times it hides behind piety, “Faith is too holy to be tested.” But either way, it hollows out the Christian gospel, which from the beginning was anchored in public events and open to scrutiny. The gospel is not an inner feeling. It is public truth.
To see why Christians must resist fideism, it helps to hear from thinkers–past and present–on the same subject such as the 19th century mathematician and philosopher William Kingdon Clifford, 20th century epistemologist and student of the famous Karl Popper, W. W. Bartley III, popular neoatheist provocateur Sam Harris, and contemporary theologian Paul J. Griffiths. Each addresses the relationship between faith, reason, and evidence. And while they may overstate their case in some ways, together they help sharpen Christian witness in a skeptical age.
Clifford: Belief and Moral Responsibility
“It is wrong always, everywhere, and for anyone, to believe anything upon insufficient evidence.” — The Ethics of Belief (1877)
William Kingdon Clifford’s maxim sounds severe, but his point is straightforward: belief is never private. What we believe shapes what we do, and what we do affects others. To believe carelessly is to act carelessly.
To drive the point home, Clifford told the parable of a shipowner who knew his vessel was old and in need of repair but convinced himself it was seaworthy without proper inspection. Persuaded by its long history of successful voyages, he sent it out with passengers aboard. The ship sank, and all were lost. For Clifford, even if the ship had not sunk, the shipowner was guilty. His crime was believing without evidence.
There is truth here. A culture of credulity corrodes trust and invites disaster. Belief carries moral weight.
Yet Clifford overreaches. If we demanded airtight proof for every belief, human life would grind to a halt. We rely daily on memory, friendship, and testimony without the kind of strict evidence Clifford requires. His standard leaves no room for ordinary trust, nor for the possibility of God’s self-revelation.
Still, Christians can learn from him. Clifford’s parable reminds us that faith is not whimsical credulity. To treat the gospel as exempt from evidence trivializes it. Christianity calls for trust—but trust in God who has acted in history.
Bartley: The Retreat into Fideism
“The retreat to commitment… is a retreat to the position that one’s fundamental beliefs are beyond criticism.” — Retreat to Commitment (1962)
Nearly a century later, W. W. Bartley III—student of Karl Popper and biographer of Ludwig Wittgenstein—examined the same problem. He observed that when challenged, many systems of thought—philosophical, political, and religious—retreat behind an unprovable foundation.
This “retreat to commitment,” Bartley argued, is intellectually vacuous. Convictions walled off from scrutiny become brittle. They cannot grow or withstand challenge. His proposed cure was pancritical rationalism: holding every commitment open to critique.
Bartley’s warning has bite. Fideistic Christianity may look bold, but it is fragile. When honest questioning is forbidden, faith often collapses at the first real test. By contrast, the apostles invited scrutiny. Luke investigated carefully. Paul appealed to eyewitnesses. Christianity thrived - and continues to thrive - in the open because it has nothing to hide.
But Bartley, like Clifford, went too far. Endless openness to critique makes genuine commitment impossible. Christianity does not call for perpetual suspension of judgment but for allegiance to Christ on the basis of historical testimony. Bartley rightly identifies the danger of fideism but misses the warmth of trust and the wisdom of settled conviction.
Harris: Faith Without Evidence as Dangerous
“While believing strongly, without evidence, is considered a mark of madness or stupidity in any other area of our lives, faith in God still holds immense prestige in our society.” — The End of Faith (2004)
Sam Harris sharpened the critique against fideism for a popular audience. For him, religious faith—defined as belief without evidence—is not just irrational but dangerous. Shielded from scrutiny, faith can justify violence, persecution, and even terror. Harris argues that even “moderate” religion is no better, since it still legitimizes irrational belief and thus enables extremism.
Christians can and should reject Harris’s caricature. He lumps all religion together as fideism, ignoring Christianity’s historical grounding. He misses the fact that the New Testament invites examination and points to evidence.
But Harris’s warning cannot be ignored. Faith divorced from reason is perilous. Paul himself cautioned that “zeal without knowledge” leads astray (Rom. 10:2). History bears out the tragedy of religious fervor unmoored from truth. Harris overstates the case, but his critique reminds Christians of the dangers of fideism.
Griffiths: Apologetics as Intrinsic
“The refusal to engage in apologetics is itself a form of fideism.” — An Apology for Apologetics (1991)
Clifford, Bartley, and Harris sharpen the critique of fideism, but they fail to show the way forward. For that, Christians can turn to Paul J. Griffiths.
Griffiths insists that apologetics is not optional but intrinsic to the gospel itself. To refuse apologetics is already to retreat into fideism. It suggests that Christianity’s claims cannot stand in the public square. But the gospel proclaims the opposite. From the beginning, Christians announced God’s acts in the open—before rulers, skeptics, and crowds. They debated in synagogues, argued in marketplaces, and defended the resurrection with reasons and evidence.
For Griffiths, apologetics flows naturally from the gospel’s nature. Christianity is not a private spirituality but a public truth-claim about reality. To refuse apologetics is to act as though Paul were wrong, as if the gospel really had been “done in a corner.”
The Apostolic Model
The New Testament bears this out. Luke carefully investigated eyewitness testimony so his readers might know the certainty of what they had been taught (Luke 1:1–4). John proclaimed what he and others had “seen with our eyes” and “touched with our hands” (1 John 1:1). Paul pointed to hundreds of living witnesses of the risen Christ (1 Cor. 15:6).
From the beginning, the church preached a faith anchored in facts. The apostles did not hide from scrutiny. They invited it. Christianity’s confidence was its credibility: these things had not been done in secret.
From the beginning, the church preached a faith anchored in facts.
We should take Clifford, Bartley, and Harris seriously because, even in their overstatements, they highlight why Christians must resist fideism. Clifford presses us to remember that belief is morally weighty. His evidentialism is too strict, but his warning challenges Christians to resist treating faith as a harmless preference. Bartley warns that convictions walled off from criticism become brittle. His cure is unrealistic, but his diagnosis rings true: fideism sabotages faith. Harris exaggerates wildly, but his critique shows what happens when religion is unmoored from truth. Christians should reject his caricature but heed his caution. Griffiths provides the constructive answer: Apologetics is not a hobby for specialists. It is integral to Christian witness because the gospel is public truth.
Together, these voices remind us that Christianity is not fideistic. It does not retreat into secrecy. It stands in the light of history, open to scrutiny, confident that what God has done can withstand examination.
Paul told Agrippa that the gospel was “not done in a corner.” Christianity does not need to hide. It does not need to retreat into fideism or resign itself to an intellectual ghetto. Its foundation is public, historical, and testable. The resurrection was not done in a corner. Our faith should not be either.
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