In Praise of Inauthenticity

A priest I know once talked at length in a seminarian supervisors' group session about his desire to be "authentic."  Since the 1960s, the word "authentic" has been used frequently in religious circles (and elsewhere) to describe someone whose way of life has integrity, who is genuine and honest.  Authenticity is a lofty goal, but one I know we cannot meet, and so I challenged him on it.

I told a story once related to me by an older priest, who had attended a lecture on the Nicene Creed by an elderly patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church "back in the day," as the "authenticity movement" was just taking root.  When the good bishop had finished his lecture, he fielded questions from his audience.  A seminarian stood up and said he did not think he could say the Creed with any real "authenticity" because it was so full of mythological imagery, including doctrinal statements about the virgin birth of Jesus he could not possibly recognize as true in any objective, empirical sense.  The patriarch stared at him over his glasses in silence for a few moments and then said slowly, "Young man, this creed represents the accumulated wisdom of the Church.  It took nearly three hundred years to formulate and has been reaffirmed by the Church again and again over more than sixteen hundred years of subsequent history.  Who are you to set your understanding above it?  Far greater minds and hearts than yours or mine have wrestled with it and been shaped by it.  As a representative of the Church, it is not for you to set it aside.  You may struggle with it all you like, that is a good thing, but you must not toss it aside in the name of some imagined 'authenticity'.  You are not fully formed in Christ--none of us are--and therefore cannot describe yourself as 'authentic' in any true sense.  Rather, you need to say it every day as a prayer, in the hope that it will shape your mind and your heart, so that one day you will understand it as it is meant to be understood." 

My friend was, I think, a bit upset at me, judging from his expression.  He said that I had misunderstood him, that it wasn't that he did not recognize his present understandings as limited and still "in process", but that he wanted to be transparent, the kind of person who was true to his heart, and not some phony pretending to be someone he was not.  But his attempt at clarification did not turn away my objection.  I wondered aloud how anyone could be fully transparent, given the truth that most of us cannot see very clearly into our own hearts.  I could not help remembering Jeremiah's lament, "The human heart is deceitful above any other thing, desperately sick; who can fathom it?"  (Jeremiah 17:9, REB)  I said I did not know who I was, really, "authentically".  I knew I was in the process of becoming someone, someone whom I prayed would be conformed to the image of Christ, but the fulfillment of that longing only would come with the fullness of time.  As the old patriarch no doubt would have affirmed, it was that person, and not the person I was now, that I should understand to be the authentic Jonathan. 

This did not sit well either.  In hindsight, I think I should have more clearly acknowledged the validity of wanting to be transparent and genuine.  It is something we all long for and a noble aspiration.  And it is our destiny, if we are true to our calling and forge ahead in our pilgrimage, trusting the Lord will lead us in the way.  Paul gives voice to this yearning with great eloquence, most especially in I Corinthians 13: "For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.  Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I am fully known."  We long to have the fig leaves of Adam and Eve stripped away, to know the perfect intimacy of Eden before the Fall.  But the road is long before that joy becomes ours once again.  It demands an arduous trek through a desert land, a confrontation with the sin that has made it impossible to know ourselves or one another fully, and a deep supply of grace.

What's more, pushing to reveal too much of ourselves can backfire, precisely because we are, in the world as it stands, prone to disharmony, unable to enter fully into oneanother's hearts.  Misunderstanding and hard feelings easily undermine a relationship when opinions and perspectives are shared that may be upsetting or off-putting.  Yes, honesty about our own struggles with sin and relationships can help in developing personal connections because it makes clear we know the burden of being human--we can "relate"--but we had best be judicious in what we choose to share and what we don't... and with whom.  Our sense of community is always tenuous and provisional, this side of the Kingdom, and what little we do have is, in part, based on a kind of studied ignorance, a willingness to look away from those things that would divide us and fix our gaze upon those things that unite us.  Too much information can kill a good thing.  I do not want to know too much about the self-doubts and late-night anguish of my president or bishop.  I do not want to know too much about the political biases and animosities of my parishioners.  I do not want to know too much about the sex life and fantasies of my parents or my children.  Let me keep some of my illusions.  I need them.  They lend me a kind of stability, a stability I need to move forward and not fall into despair.  God knows I have enough trouble struggling with my own inner demons, let alone those of others.

So yes, spare me the fully authentic.  Inauthenticity, in judicious, well measured portions, is good for me.  Paradoxically, it is the very thing that gives me the strength and courage to carry on, a peculiar, inverted grace that makes it possible for me to work toward the authentic.  I cannot bare myself and become too naked too soon, or I will perish in the fiercely cold and unforgiving winds of a hostile world utterly unlike the warm and open paradise of Eden.