Sincerity, Idolatry, and Despair

Time Magazine’s “Person of the Year” for 2006 was a closely guarded secret in the days leading up to the release. That’s because Time’s “Person of the Year” was me. And you. And everyone else.

So how did we all make the cover of Time?

The editors used their annual award to highlight the advent of what they called “Web 2.0.” In the early days of the millennium, while the web was still new, people used the internet mostly as a source for information: news, customer reviews for products, celebrity gossip, and other forms of content. This was “Web 1.0,” the internet as a one-way flow of information from experts to the rest of us. But by the mid-2000s it was becoming clear that a shift was underway. The traffic was flowing two ways. Now it was not just professional content-producers but also ordinary people who were uploading videos, creating blogs, and posting on social media platforms.

Now that the flow of information had truly become democratized, everyone had a voice. Now the fledgling comedian or the rapper or writer could build a worldwide fan base, bypassing editors, agents, and other cultural gate-keepers. With the advent of social media (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc.) the free flow of information reached full throttle. Now everyone can say whatever they sincerely believe to be true.

It’s not as if 2006 was a watershed moment. This shift toward absolute individualism has been slow and subterranean, like a cultural tectonic plate. But now, two decades after Time’s splashy cover story, we have decided as a culture that sincerity is sacred. If I sincerely believe something, it is my truth, and I have a right – even an obligation – to speak and live that truth.

It’s true that we have gained a great deal by this unfettered access to knowledge and this unhindered ability to speak our minds, but what has been the trade-off? What are the unintended consequences of letting sincerity have first and last word in every conversation?

I think there are two over-lapping consequences.

1. The assumption that sincerity is the final arbiter of truth is an admission of despair.

The only way to regard sincerity as the only voice of truth is to give up on the hope that we can find what Francis Schaeffer called “true Truth,” the kind of Truth that we must all acknowledge regardless of individual perspective or feelings or opinions. By acknowledging that everyone’s truth is equally valid, we have effectively given up on the hope that we will find Truth that is true for everyone everywhere. The best any of us can hope for is to find our own version of the truth, one that seems right to me and works for me.

Treating sincerity as sacrosanct means that all the usual tests for truth-telling have no voice: factual evidence, common sense, logical consistency, social propriety. That’s why we’re all having such a hard time determining what is true and what is just spin. We’ve been told that all the metrics we used to rely on are unreliable, so all we have is versions of the truth, “narratives” competing against another. 

Treating sincerity as sacrosanct means that in place of sober-minded journalism, we are treated to a constant barrage of editorializing from the Left and the Right. That’s why so many Americans get their perspective from an echo-chamber that only reinforces what they already believe to be true. With such chaos all around us, it’s more comfortable to hear the constant drumbeat of one point of view than to hear multiple perspectives and weigh the evidence for ourselves.

Treating sincerity as sacrosanct explains why self-image is so complicated for kids growing up. There are no longer any givens in the human condition; everything that makes me unique is tentative, including my gender and my sexual orientation. What a terrifying prospect for a child, to think that these vital data points of identity are a matter of my own personal choice!

Treating sincerity as sacrosanct explains why we find ourselves caring what late-night comedians think about social and political issues. We are in such a state of despair that we are literally looking to the wry humor of professional clowns to help us understand what is happening.

Treating sincerity as sacrosanct explains why social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter have been charged with the impossible task of fact-checking and authorizing every one of the millions of posts on their sites. They even must decide what sort of snarky opinionating is permissible and what is hate-speech and therefore impermissible. Who is up to such a task?

All of this has contributed to a growing despair that we will ever again be able to find common ground as a culture or even have civil conversations about our disagreements.

But the price we’re paying for deifying sincerity this way is not just cultural. It is spiritual as well.

2. The assumption that sincerity is the final arbiter of truth is a not-so-subtle form of idolatry.

Remember that an idol is any good thing that we treat as the ultimate thing. It is right and proper that we value sincerity both in others and in ourselves; we don’t want to deal with false selves but the real thing. But sincerity is like every other created thing: it is a wonderful servant and a tyrannical master. When I enthrone sincerity as the ultimate test of truth, I am putting all my confidence in the heart’s ability to discern rightly and reliably. If sincerity is all that matters, I never have to question my motives, my reasoning, or my conclusions: if I really believe it, it must be true, at least for me.

The problem with putting all this weight on sincerity is that, just like every other idol, sincerity will prove to be an impotent and unreliable guide to truth. Our hearts simply cannot be relied on to tell us the truth. Jeremiah said it well: “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked; who can know it?”

When I deify my own sincerity, I double-down on my blind spots. A man who puts all his confidence in his own point of view is constitutionally incapable of even admitting he has blind spots. He makes the classic blunder of “leaning on his own understanding” and thus cutting himself off from even God’s guiding hand (Proverbs 3:5-6). 

When I deify my own sincerity, it’s alarmingly easy for me to lie to myself about my sin. And as James observed, we don’t need any help stumbling into sin; it is already our strong natural inclination: “Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God,’ for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire” (James 1:13-14).

When I deify sincerity, I become an expert at hiding my own intentions from myself. As the proverb puts it, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Proverbs 14:12). Or, as our own American proverb has it, we all know what the road to hell is paved with.

This cultural enthronement of sincerity may help explain why our social media atmosphere has grown so toxic. When my sincere truth collides with someone else’s equally sincere truth, we have no way to talk about our differences, so we hurl hashtags and bumper sticker slogans at one another in our endless and pointless online battles.

This is especially concerning when Christ-followers contribute to that toxicity by joining a side and slinging mud.

Yes, our cultural moment is fraught with peril. And yes, it’s very difficult to get a good read on what is actually happening and what it all means. All the more reason to make sure we think and speak like Christ-followers and not merely imitate the tone and rhetoric of the online warriors who are constantly poisoning the well with suspicion, cynicism and petty meanness.

Of all people, Christ-followers ought to be humble and teachable, good listeners, “swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to grow angry.” We of all people ought to know that “the anger of man doesn’t produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:19-20).

Of all people, Christ-followers ought to be careful about their tone, how their words might come across to the watching world. “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person” (Colossians 4:6).

 

Let’s speak and act not like people whose identity depends on their ability to defend their personal opinions. Rather, let’s speak and act like those who don’t always have to be right, people who can extend grace because their lives are suffused with it: “So speak and so act as those who are to be judged under the law of liberty. For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:12-13).